Capital  Stories 


BY 


AMERICAN    AUTHORS. 


PUBLISHED  BY 
a^HE    CHRISTI^ISr    HERALD, 

Louis  Klopsch,  Proprietor, 
BIBLE  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright  1895, 
By  Louis  Klopsch. 


Press  and  Bindery  of 
HISTORICAL  PUBLISHING  CO. 

PHILADELPHIA. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

A  True  Story    no 

Mark  Twain. 

A  Chase  for  a  Wife 42 

T.  C.  HAI.IBURTON. 

A  Modern  Knight  234 

John  Habberton. 

Celestial  Railroad,  The 13 

Nathaniki.  Hawthorne. 

Clarence's  Courtship 68 

Ik  Marvei.. 

Epistolary  Crazy-work  • 195 

F.  C.  VAI.ENTINE. 

Ministers' Sunshine   118 

T.  De  Witt  TAI.MAGE. 

Mrs.  Bullfrog I44 

Nathaniei,  Hawthorne. 
(") 


2076081 


12  Ta  ble  of  Con  te?i  ts . 

PAGE 

Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment 220 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Misfortune's  Favorite 82 

Carlotta  Perrv. 

Rip  Van  Winkle 281 

Washington  IR\^NG. 

The  Lazy  Crow 306 

W.  Gii^MORE  Sims. 

The  Lightning- Rod  Man  269 

Herman  Melville. 

"Wiped  Out  " 156 

A.  A.  FIayes. 


Capital  Stories 
By  American  Authors. 


THE  CElyESTlAI,  RAILROAD. 

BY  NATHANIEIv  HAWTHORNE. 

Not  a  great  while  ago,  passing  through 
the  gate  of  dreams,  I  visited  that  region  of 
the  earth  in  which  lies  the  famous  City  of  De- 
struction. It  interested  me  much  to  learn  that 
by  the  public  spirit  of  some  of  the  inhabitants 
a  railroad  had  recently  been  established 
between  this  populous  and  flourishing  town 
and  the  Celestial  City.  Having  a  little  time 
upon  my  hands,  I  resolved  to  gratify  a  lib- 
eral curiosity  to  make  a  trip  thither.  Ac- 
cordingly, one  fine  morning,  after  paying 
my  bill  at  the  hotel  and  directing  the  porter 
to  stow  my  luggage  behind  a  coach,  I  took 
my  seat  in  the  vehicle  and  set  out  for  the 
station-house.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to 
enjoy  the  company  of  a  gentleman — one 
Mr.  Smooth-it- Away — who,  though  he  had 
never  actually  visited  the  Celestial  City,  yet 
seemed  as  well  acquainted  with  its  laws, 
customs,  policy  and  statistics  as  with  those 
of  the  City  of  Destruction,  of  which  he  was 
a  native  townsman.  Being,  moreover,  a 
(13) 


14  Capital  Stories 

director  of  the  railroad  corporation  and  one  of 
its  largest  stockholders,  he  had  it  in  his 
power  to  give  me  all  desirable  information 
respecting  that  praiseworthy  enterprise. 

Our  coach  rattled  out  of  the  city,  and  at 
a  short  distance  from  its  outskirts  passed 
over  a  bridge  of  elegant  construction,  but 
somewhat  too  slight,  as  I  imagined,  to  sus- 
tain any  considerable  weight.  On  both 
sides  lay  an  extensive  quagmire  which 
could  not  have  been  more  disagreeable 
either  to  sight  or  smell  had  all  the  kennels 
of  the  earth  emptied  their  pollution  there. 

"This,"  remarked  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away, 
"is,  the  famous  Slough  of  Despond — a  dis- 
grace to  all  the  neighborhood,  and  the  greater 
that  it  might  so  easily  be  converted  into 
firm  ground." 

"I  have  understood,"  said  I,  *'that 
efiforts  have  been  made  for  that  purpose 
from  time  immemorial.  Bunyan  mentions 
that  above  twenty-thousand  cart-loads  of 
wholesome  instructions  had  been  thrown  in 
here  without  effect." 

"  Very  probably  !  And  what  effect  could 
be  anticipated  from  such  unsubstantial 
stuff? ' '  cried  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away .  ' '  You 
observe  this  convenient  bridge  ?  We  ob- 
tained a  sufficient  foundation  for  it  by 
throwing  into  the  slough  some  editions  of 
books  of  morality,  volumes  of  French  phil- 
osophy and  German  rationalism,  tracts,  ser- 
mons   and    essays   of    modern  clergymen. 


By  American  Authors.  15 

extracts  from  Plato,  Confucius  and  various 
Hindoo  sages,  together  with  a  few  ingeni- 
ous commentaries  upon  texts  of  Scripture — 
all  of  which,  by  some  scientific  process  have 
been  converted  into  a  mass  like  granite. 
The  whole  bog  might  be  filled  up  with  simi- 
lar matter." 

It  really  seemed  to  me,  however,  that  the 
bridge  vibrated  and  heaved  up  and  down  in 
a  very  formidable  manner  ;  and,  in  spite  of 
Mr.  Smooth-it-Away's  testimony  to  the  so- 
lidity of  its  foundation,  I  should  be  loth  to 
cross  it  in  a  crowded  omnibus,  especially  if 
each  passenger  were  encumbered  with  as 
heavy  luggage  as  that  gentleman  and  my- 
self. Nevertheless,  we  got  over  without 
accident,  and  soon  found  ourselves  at  the 
station-house.  This  very  neat  and  spacioui: 
edifice  is  erected  on  the  site  of  the  little 
wicket- gate  which  formerly,  as  all  old  pil- 
grims will  recollect,  stood  directly  across  the 
highway,  and  by  its  inconvenient  narrow- 
ness was  a  great  obstruction  to  the  traveler 
of  liberal  mind  and  expansive  stomach. 
The  reader  of  John  Bunyan  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  Christian's  old  friend  Evangelist, 
who  was  accustomed  to  supply  each  pilgrim 
with  a  mystic  roll,  now  presides  at  the 
ticket-office.  Some  malicious  persons,  it  is 
true,  deny  the  identity  of  this  reputable 
character  with  the  Evangelist  of  old  times, 
and  even  pretend  to  bring  competent  evi- 
dence of  an  imposture.     Without  involving 


i6  Capital  Stories 

myself  in  a  dispute,  I  shall  merely  observe 
that,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the  square 
pieces  of  pasteboard  now  delivered  to  pas- 
sengers are  much  more  convenient  and  use- 
ful along  the  road  than  the  antique  roll  of 
parchment.  Whether  they  will  be  as  read- 
ily received  at  the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City, 
I  decline  giving  an  opinion. 

A  large  number  of  passengers  were  already 
at  the  station-house  awaiting  the  departure 
of  the  cars.  By  the  aspect  and  demeanor  of 
these  persons,  it  was  easy  to  judge  that  the 
feelings  of  the  community  had  undergone  a 
very  favorable  change  in  reference  to  the 
celestial  pilgrimage.  It  would  have  done 
Bunyan's  heart  good  to  see  it.  Instead  of  a 
lonely  and  ragged  man  with  a  huge  burden 
on  his  back  plodding  along  sorrowfully  on 
foot,  while  the  whole  city  hooted  after  him, 
here  were  parties  of  the  first  gentry  and 
most  respectable  people  in  the  neighborhood 
setting  forth  toward  the  Celestial  City  as 
if  the  pilgrimage  were  merely  a  summer 
tour.  Among  the  gentlemen  were  charac- 
ters of  deserved  eminence — magistrates,  pol- 
iticians and  men  of  wealth,  by  whose 
example  religion  could  not  but  be  greatly 
recommended  to  their  meaner  brethren.  In 
the  ladies'  department,  too,  I  rejoiced  to 
distinguish  some  of  those  flowers  of  fashion- 
able society,  who  are  so  well  fitted  to  adorn 
the  most  elevated  circles  of  the  Celestial  City. 
There  was  much  pleasant  conversation  about 


By  American  Authors,  17 

the  news  of  the  day,  topics  of  business, 
politics  or  the  lighter  matters  of  amuse- 
ment, while  religion,  though  indubitably 
the  main  thing  at  heart,  was  thrown  taste- 
fully into  the  background.  Even  an  in- 
fidel would  have  heard  little  or  nothing  to 
shock  his  sensibility. 

One  great  convenience  of  the  new  method 
of  going  on  pilgrimage  I  must  not  forget  to 
mention.  Our  enormous  burdens,  instead 
of  being  carried  on  our  shoulders,  as  had 
been  the  custom  of  old,  were  all  snugly  de- 
posited in  the  baggage  car,  and,  as  I  was 
assured,  would  be  delivered  to  their  respec- 
tive owners  at  the  journey's  end.  Another 
thing,  likewise,  the  benevolent  reader  will 
be  delighted  to  understand.  It  may  be  re- 
membered that  there  was  an  ancient  feud 
between  Prince  Beelzebub  and  the  keeper 
of  the  wicket-gate,  and  that  the  adherents 
of  the  former  distinguished  personage  were 
accustomed  to  shoot  deadly  arrows  at  hon- 
est pilgrims,  while  knocking  at  the  door. 
This  dispute,  much  to  the  credit  as  well  of 
the  illustrious  potentate  above  mentioned, 
as  of  the  worthy  and  enlightened  directors 
of  the  railroad,  has  been  pacifically  arranged 
on  the  principle  of  mutual  compromise. 
The  prince's  subjects  are  now  pretty  num- 
erously employed  about  the  station-house — 
some  in  taking  care  of  the  baggage,  others 
in  collecting  fuel,  feeding  the  engines,  and 
such  congenial  occupations — and  I  can  con- 


1 8  Capital  Stories 

scientiously  affirm  that  persons  more  atten- 
tive to  their  business,  more  v/iUing  to  ac- 
commodate or  more  generally  agreeable  to 
the  passengers  are  not  to  be  found  on  any 
railroad.  Every  good  heart  must  surely 
exult  at  so  satisfactory  an  arrangement  of 
an  immemorial  difficulty. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Great-heart  ?  "  inquired  I. 
"Beyond  a  doubt,  the  directors  have  en- 
gaged that  famous  old  champion  to  be  chief 
conductor  on  the  railroad." 

"Why,  no,"  said  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away, 
with  a  dry  cough.  "He  was  offered  the 
situation. of  brakeman,  but,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  our  friend  Great-heart  has  grown  pre- 
posterously stiff  and  narrow  in  his  old  age. 
He  has  so  often  guided  pilgrims  over  the 
road  on  foot  that  he  considers  it  a  sin  to 
travel  in  any  other  fashion.  Beside,  the  old 
fellow  had  entered  so  heartily  into  the 
ancient  feud  with  Prince  Beelzebub  that  he 
would  have  been  perpetually  at  blows  or  ill- 
language  with  some  of  the  prince's  subjects 
and  thus  have  embroiled  us  anew.  So,  on 
the  whole,  we  were  not  sorry  when  honest 
Great-heart  went  off  to  the  Celestial  City  in 
a  huff,  and  left  us  at  liberty  to  choose  a 
more  suitable  and  accommodating  man. 
Yonder  comes  the  conductor  of  the  train. 
You  will  probably  recognize  him  at  once." 

The  engine  at  this  moment  took  its  station 
in  advance  of  the  cars,  looking,  I  must  con- 
fess, much  more  like  a  sort  of  mechanical 


By  American  Authors.  19 

demon  that  would  hurry  us  to  the  infernal 
regions  than  a  laudable  contrivance  for 
smoothing  our  way  to  the  Celestial  City, 
On  its  top  sat  a  personage  almost  enveloped 
in  smoke  and  flame,  which— not  to  startle 
the  reader — appeared  to  gush  from  his  own 
mouth  and  stomach,  as  well  as  from  the 
engine's  brazen  abdomen. 

"Do  my  eyes  deceive  me?"  cried  I. 
' '  What  on  earth  is  this  ?  A  living  creature  ? 
If  so,  he  is  own  brother  to  the  engine  he 
rides  upon  ! ' ' 

"  Poh,  poh  !  you  are  obtuse  !  "  said  Mr. 
Smooth-it-Away,  with  a  hearty  laugh. 
**  Don't  you  know  Apollyon,  Christian's  old 
enemy,  with  whom  he  fought  so  fierce  a 
battle  in  the  Valley  of  Humiliation  ?  He 
was  the  very  fellow  to  manage  the  engine, 
and  so  we  have  reconciled  him  to  the  custom 
of  going  on  pilgrimage,  and  engaged  him 
as  chief  conductor." 

"  Bravo,  bravo  !  "  exclaimed  I,  with  irre- 
pressible enthusiasm.  "This  shows  the 
liberality  of  the  age  ;  this  proves,  if  any- 
thing can,  that  all  musty  prejudices  are  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  obliterated.  And  how  will 
Christian  rejoice  to  hear  of  this  happy  trans- 
formation of  his  old  antagonist !  I  promise 
myself  great  pleasure  in  informing  him  of  it 
when  we  reach  the  Celestial  City." 

The  passengers  being  all  comfortably 
seated,  we  now  rattled  away  merril)^  accom- 
plishing a   greater  distance  in  ten  minutes 


20  Capital  Stories 

than  Christian  probably  trudged  over  in  a 
day.  It  was  laughable,  while  we  glanced 
along,  as  it  were,  at  the  tail  of  a  thunderbolt, 
to  observe  two  dusty  foot  travelers,  in  the 
old  pilgrim  guise,  with  cockle-shell  and 
staff,  their  mystic  rolls  of  parchment  in  their 
hands,  and  their  intolerable  burdens  on  their 
backs.  The  preposterous  obstinac}-  of  these 
honest  people  in  persisting  to  groan  and 
stumble  along  the  difficult  pathway  rather 
than  take  advantage  of  modern  improve- 
ments excited  great  mirth  among  our  wiser 
brotherhood.  We  greeted  the  two  pilgrims 
with  many  pleasant  gibes  and  a  roar  of 
laughter  ;  whereupon  they  gazed  at  us  with 
such  woful  and  absurdly  compassionate 
visages  that  our  merriment  grew  tenfold 
more  obstreperous.  Apollyon,  also,  entered 
heartily  into  the  fun,  and  contrived  to  flirt 
the  smoke  and  flame  of  the  engine  or  of  his 
own  breath  into  their  faces,  and  envelop 
ihem  in  an  atmosphere  of  scalding  steam. 
These  little  practical  jokes  amused  us  might- 
ily, and  doubtless  afforded  the  pilgrims  the 
gratification  of  considering  themselves  mar- 
tyrs. 

At  some  distance  from  the  railroad  Mr. 
Smooth- it- A wa}'  pointed  to  a  large,  antique 
edifice  which  he  observed,  was  a  tavern  of 
long  standing,  and  had  formerly  been  a 
noted  stopping  place  for  pilgrims.  In  Bun- 
yan's  road-book  it  is  mentioned  as  the  Inter- 
preter's House. 


By  American  Authors.  21 

* '  I  have  long  had  a  curiosity  to  visit  that 
old  mansion,"  remarked  I. 

"  It  is  not  one  of  our  stations,  as  you  per- 
ceive," said  my  companion.  "The  keeper 
was  violently  opposed  to  the  railroad,  and 
well  he  might  be,  as  the  track  left  his  house 
of  entertainment  on  one  side,  and  thus  was 
pretty  certain  to  deprive  him  of  all  his 
reputable  customers.  But  the  footpath  still 
passes  his  door,  and  the  old  gentleman  now 
and  then  receives  a  call  from  some  simple 
traveler  and  entertains  him  with  fare  as  old- 
fashioned  as  himself." 

Before  our  talk  on  this  subject  came  to  a 
conclusion  we  were  rushing  by  the  place 
where  Christian's  burden  fell  from  his 
shoulders  at  the  sight  of  the  cross.  This 
served  as  a  theme  for  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away, 
Mr.  Li ve-for- the- World,  Mr.  Hide-Sin-in- 
the-Heart,  Mr.  Scaly-Conscience  and  a  knot 
of  gentlemen  from  the  town  of  Shun-Re- 
pentance,  to  descant  upon  the  inestimable 
advantages  resulting  from  the  safety  of  our 
baggage.  Myself — and  all  the  passengers, 
indeed — joined  with  great  unanimity  in  this 
view  of  the  matter,  for  our  burdens  were 
rich  in  many  things  esteemed  precious 
throughout  the  world,  and  especially  we 
each  of  us  possessed  a  great  variety  of  favor- 
ite habits  which  we  trusted  would  not  be 
out  of  fashion  even  in  the  polite  circles  of 
the  Celestial  City.  It  would  have  been  a 
sad  spectacle  to  see  such  an  assortment  of 


22  Capital  Stories 

valuable  articles  tumbling  into  the  sepul- 
chre. 

Thus  pleasantly  conversing  on  the  favor- 
able circumstances  of  our  position  as  com- 
pared with  those  of  past  pilgrims  and  of 
narrow-minded  ones  at  the  present  day,  we 
soon  found  ourselves  at  the  foot  of  the  Hill 
Difficulty.  Through  the  very  heart  of  this 
rocky  mountain  a  tunnel  has  been  con- 
structed, of  most  admirable  architecture, 
with  a  lofty  arch  and  a  spacious  double  track; 
so  that,  unless  the  earth  and  rocks  should 
chance  to  crumble  down,  it  will  remain  an 
eternal  monument  of  the  builders'  skill  and 
enterprise.  It  is  a  great  though  incidental 
advantage  that  the  materials  from  the  heart 
of  the  Hill  Difficulty  have  been  employed  in 
filling  up  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  thus 
obviating  the  necessity  of  descending  into 
that  disagreeable  and  unwholesome  hollow. 

"This  is  a  wonderful  improvement  in- 
deed," said  I,  "  yet  I  should  have  been  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  visit  the  palace  Beau- 
tiful and  be  introduced  to  the  charming 
young  ladies — Miss  Prudence,  Miss  Piety, 
Miss  Charit3\  and  the  rest — who  have  the 
kindness  to  entertain  pilgrims  there." 

"Young  ladies!"  cried  Mr.  Smooth-it- 
Away  as  soon  as  he  could  speak  for  laugh- 
ing. "And  charming  young  ladies  !  Why, 
my  dear  fellow,  they  are  old  maids,  every 
soul  of  them — prim,  starched,  dry  and 
angular — and  not  one  of  them,  I  will  venture 


By  Americaji  Authors.  23 

to  say,  has  altered  so  much  as  the  fashion 
of  her  gown  since  the  days  of  Christian's 
pilgrimage." 

"Ah,  well!"  said  I,  much  comforted; 
* '  then  I  can  very  readily  dispense  with  their 
acquaintance." 

The  respectable  Apollyon  was  now  putting 
on  the  steam  at  a  prodigious  rate — anxious, 
perhaps,  to  get  rid  of  the  unpleasant  remin- 
iscences connected  with  the  spot  where  he 
had  so  disastrously  encountered  Christian. 

Consulting  Mr.  Bunyan's  road-book,  I 
perceived  that  we  must  now  be  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death, 
into  which  doleful  region,  at  our  present 
speed,  we  should  plunge  much  sooner  than 
seemed  at  all  desirable.  In  truth,  I  ex- 
pected nothing  better  than  to  find  myself  in 
the  ditch  on  one  side  of  the  quag  or  the 
other.  But  on  communicating  my  appre- 
hensions to  Mr.  Smooth-it- A  way  he  assured 
me  that  the  difficulties  of  this  passage,  even 
in  its  worst  condition,  had  been  vastly  ex- 
aggerated, and  that  in  its  present  state  of 
improvement  I  might  consider  myself  as  safe 
as  on  any  railroad  in  Christendom. 

Even  while  we  were  speaking  the  train 
shot  into  the  entrance  of  this  dreaded  val- 
ley. Though  I  plead  guilty  to  some  foolish 
palpitations  of  the  heart  during  our  head- 
long rush  over  .the  causeway  here  con- 
structed, yet  it  were  unjust  to  withhold  the 
highest  encomiums  on   the  boldness  of  its 


24  Capital  Stories 

original  conception  and  the  ingenuity  of 
those  who  executed  it.  It  was  gratifying, 
likewise,  to  observe  how  much  care  had 
been  taken  to  dispel  the  everlasting  gloom 
and  supply  the  defect  of  cheerful  sunshine, 
not  a  ray  of  which  has  ever  penetrated 
among  these  awful  shadows.  For  this  pur- 
pose the  inflammable  gas  which  exudes 
plentifully  from  the  soil  is  collected  by 
means  of  pipes,  and  thence  communicated 
to  a  quadruple  row  of  lamps  along  the  whole 
extent  of  the  passage.  Thus  a  radiance  has 
been  created  even  out  of  the  fiery  and 
sulphurous  curse  that  rests  forever  upon  the 
Valley — a  radiance  hurtful,  however,  to  the 
eyes,  and  somewhat  bewildering,  as  I  dis- 
covered by  the  changes  which  it  wrought  in 
the  visages  of  m^^  companions.  In  this  re- 
spect, as  compared  with  natural  daylight, 
there  is  the  same  difference  as  between 
truth  and  falsehood  ;  but  if  the  reader  has 
ever  traveled  through  the  dark  valley,  he 
will  have  learned  to  be  thankful  for  any 
light  that  he  could  get — if  not  from  the  sky 
above,  then  from  the  blasted  soil  beneath. 
Such  was  the  red  brilliancy  of  these  lamps 
that  they  appeared  to  build  walls  of  fire  on 
both  sides  of  the  track,  between  which  w^e 
held  our  course  at  lightning  speed,  while  a 
reverberating  thunder  filled  the  vallej^  with 
its  echoes.  Had  the  engine  run  off  the 
track — a  catastrophe,  it  is  whispered,  by  no 
means  unprecedented — the   bottomless  pit, 


By  American  Authors.  25 

if  there  be  any  such  place,  would  undoubt- 
edly have  received  us.  Just  as  some  dismal 
fooleries  of  this  nature  had  made  my  heart 
quake  there  came  a  tremendous  shriek 
careering  along  the  Valley  as  if  a  thousand 
devils  had  burst  their  lungs  to  utter  it,  but 
which  proved  to  be  merely  the  whistle  of 
the  engine  on  arriving  at  a  stopping  place. 
The  spot  where  he  had  now  paused  is  the 
same  that  our  friend  Bunyan — truthful  man, 
but  infected  with  many  fantastic  notions — 
has  designated  in  terms  plainer  than  I  like 
to  repeat,  as  the  mouth  of  the  infernal 
region.  This,  however,  must  be  a  mistake, 
inasmuch  as  Mr.  Smooth- it- A waj^  while  we 
remained  in  the  smoky  and  lurid  cavern, 
took  occasion  to  prove  that  Tophet  has  not 
even  a  metaphorical  existence.  The  place, 
he  assured  us,  is  no  other  than  the  crater 
of  a  half  extinct  volcano,  in  which  the  di- 
rectors had  caused  forges  to  be  set  up  for 
the  manufacture  of  railroad-iron.  Hence, 
also,  is  obtained  a  plentiful  supply  of  fuel 
for  the  use  of  the  engines.  Whoever  had 
gazed  into  the  dismal  obscurity  of  the  broad 
cavern- mouth,  whence  ever  and  anon  darted 
huge  tongues  of  dusky  flame,  and  had  seen 
the  strange,  half-shaped  monsters  and  vi- 
sions of  faces  horribly  grotesque  into  which 
the  smoke  seemed  to  wreath  itself,  and  had 
heard  the  awful  murmurs  and  shrieks  and 
deep  shuddering  whispers  of  the  blast, 
sometimes  forming  themselves  into  words 


26  Capital  Stories 

almost  articulate,  would  have  seized  upon 
Mr.  Smooth- it- Away 's  comfortable  explana- 
tion as  greedily  as  we  did.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  cavxrn,  moreover,  were  unlovel}^  per- 
sonages— dark,  smoke  begrimed,  generally 
deformed,  with  misshapen  feet  and  a  glow 
of  dusky  redness  in  their  eyes,  as  if  their 
hearts  had  caught  fire  and  were  blazing  out 
of  the  upper  windows.  It  struck  me  as 
a  peculiarity  that  the  laborers  at  the  forge 
and  those  who  brought  fuel  to  the  engine, 
when  they  began  to  draw  short  breath,  pos- 
itively emitted  smoke  from  their  mouth  and 
nostrils. 

Among  the  idlers  about  the  traia,  most  of 
whom  were  puffing  cigars,  which  they  had 
lighted  at  the  flame  of  the  crater,  I  was  per- 
plexed to  notice  several  who,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  had  heretofore  set  forth  by  rail- 
road for  the  Celestial  City.  They  looked 
dark,  wild  and  smoky,  with  a  singular  re- 
semblance, indeed,  to  the  native  inhabitants, 
like  whom,  also,  they  had  a  disagreeable 
propensity  to  ill-natured  gibes  and  sneers, 
the  habit  of  which  had  wrought  a  settled 
contortion  of  their  visages.  Having  been 
on  speaking  terms  with  one  of  these  per- 
sons—an indolent,  good-for-nothing  fellow 
who  went  by  the  name  of  Take-it-Easy — I 
called  him  and  inquired  what  was  his  busi- 
ness there. 

' '  Did  you  not  start, ' '  said  I,  ' '  for  the 
Celestial  City?" 


By  American  Authors.  27- 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Mr.  Take-it-Easy,. 
carelessly  puffing  some  smoke  into  my  eyes ;: 
**but  I  heard  such  bad  accounts  that  I 
never  took  pains  to  climb  the  hill  on  which 
the  city  stands — no  business  doing,  no  fun 
going  on,  nothing  to  drink,  and  no  smoking 
allowed,  and  a  thrumming  of  church  music 
from  morning  till  night.  I  would  not  stay 
in  such  a  place  if  they  offered  me  house- 
room  and  living  free." 

*'But,  my  good  Mr.  Take-it-Easy,"  cried 
I,  "  why  take  up  your  residence  here  of  all 
places  in  the  world  ?  " 

*'0h,"  said  the  loafer,  with  a  grin,  "it is 
very  warm  hereabouts,  and  I  meet  with 
plenty  of  old  acquaintances,  and  altogether 
the  place  suits  me.  I  hope  to  see  you  back 
again  some  day  soon.  A  pleasant  journey 
to  you  ! ' ' 

While  he  was  speaking  the  bell  of  the 
engine  rang,  and  we  dashed  away  after 
dropping  a  few  passengers,  but  receiving  no 
new  ones. 

Rattling  onward  through  the  valley,  we 
were  dazzled  with  the  fiercely  gleaming  gas- 
lamps,  as  before,  but  sometimes,  in  the  dark 
of  intense  brightness,  grim  faces  that  bore 
the  aspect  and  expression  of  individual  sins 
or  evil  passions  seemed  to  thrust  themselves 
through  the  veil  of  light,  glaring  upon  us 
and  stretching  forth  a  great  dusky  hand  as- 
if  to  impede  our  progress.  I  almost  thought 
that  they  were  my  own  sins  that  appalled 


28  Capital  Stories 

me  there.  These  were  freaks  of  imagina- 
tion— nothing  more,  certainly  ;  mere  delu- 
sions which  I  ought  to  be  heartily  ashamed 
of — but  all  through  the  dark  valley  I  was 
tormented  and  pestered  and  dolefully  be- 
wildered with  the  same  kind  of  waking 
dreams.  The  mephitic  gases  of  that  region 
intoxicate  the  brain.  As  the  light  of  natural 
da}',  however,  began  to  struggle  with  the 
glow  of  the  lanterns,  these  vain  imagina- 
tions lost  their  vividness,  and  finally  van- 
ished with  the  first  ray  of  sunshine  that 
greeted  our  escape  from  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death.  Ere  we  had  gone  a  mile 
beyond  it  I  could  well-nigh  have  taken  my 
oath  that  this  whole  gloomy  passage  was  a 
dream. 

At  the  end  of  the  valle3^  as  John  Bunyan 
mentions,  is  a  cavern  where  in  his  days 
dwelt  two  cruel  giants.  Pope  and  Pagan, 
who  had  strewn  the  ground  about  their 
residences  with  the  bones  of  slaughtered 
pilgrims.  These  vile  old  troglodytes  are  no 
longer  there,  but  in  their  deserted  cave 
another  terrible  giant  has  thrust  himself, 
and  makes  it  his  business  to  seize  upon 
honest  travelers  and  fat  them  for  his  table 
with  plentiful  meals  of  smoke,  mist,  moon- 
.shine,  raw  potatoes  and  sawdust.  He  is  a 
German  by  birth,  and  is  called  Giant  Trans- 
cendentalist,  but  as  to  his  form,  his  features, 
his  substance,  and  his  nature  generally, 
it   is  the    chief  peculiarity   of    this    huge 


By  American  Authors.  29 

miscreant  that  neither  he  for  himself  nor  any- 
body for  him  has  ever  been  able  to  describe 
them.  As  we  rushed  by  the  cavern's  mouth 
we  caught  a  hasty  glimpse  of  him,  looking 
somewhat  like  an  ill- proportioned  figure, 
but  considerably  more  like  a  heap  of  fog 
and  duskiness.  He  shouted  after  us,  but  in 
so  strange  a  phraseology  that  we  knew  not 
what  he  meant,  nor  wliether  to  be  encour- 
aged or  affrighted. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  the  train 
thundered  into  the  ancient  City  of  Vanity, 
where  Vanity  Fair  is  still  at  the  height  of 
prosperity  and  exhibits  an  epitome  of  what- 
ever is  brilliant,  gay  and  fascinating  beneath 
the  sun.  As  I  purposed  to  make  a  con- 
siderable stay  here,  it  gratified  me  to  learn 
that  there  is  no  longer  the  want  of  harmony 
between  the  townspeople  and  pilgrims  which 
impelled  the  former  to  such  lamentably 
mistaken  measures  as  the  persecution  of 
Christian  and  the  fiery  martyrdom  of  Faith- 
ful. On  the  contrary,  as  the  new  railroad 
brings  with  it  great  trade  and  a  constant  in- 
flux of  strangers,  the  lord  of  Vanity  Fair  is 
its  chief  patron  and  the  capitalists  of  the 
city  are  among  the  largest  stockholders. 
Many  passengers  stop  to  take  their  pleasure 
or  make  their  profit  in  the  fair,  instead  of 
going  onward  to  the  Celestial  City.  Indeed, 
such  are  the  charms  of  the  place  that  people 
often  affirm  it  to  be  the  true  and  only 
heaven,  stoutly  contending  that  there  is  no 


30  Capital  Stories 

other,  that  those  who  seek  farther  are  mere 
dreamers,  and  that  if  the  fabled  brightness 
of  the  Celestial  City  lay  but  a  bare  mile 
beyond  the  gates  of  Vanity  they  wou.d  not 
be  fools  enough  to  go  thither.  Without 
subscril)ing  to  these  perhaps  exaggerated 
encomiums,  I  can  truly  say  that  my  abode 
in  the  city  was  mainly  agreeable  and  my 
intercourse  with  the  inhabitants  productive 
of  much  amusement  and  instruction. 

Being  naturally  of  a  serious  turn,  my 
attention  was  directed  to  the  solid  advan- 
tages derivable  from  a  residence  here,  rather 
than  to  the  effervescent  pleasures  which  are 
the  grand  object  with  too  many  visitants. 
The  Christian  reader,  if  he  have  had  no  ac- 
counts of  the  city  later  than  Bunyan's  time, 
will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  almost  every 
street  has  its  church,  and  that  the  reverend 
clergy  are  nowhere  held  in  higher  respect 
than  at  Vanity  Fair.  And  well  do  they 
deserve  such  honorable  estimation,  for  the 
maxims  of  w^isdom  and  virtue  wdiich  fall 
from  their  lips  come  from  as  deep  a  spiritual 
source  and  tend  to  as  lofty  a  religious  aim 
as  those  of  the  sagest  philosophers  of  old. 
In  justification  of  this  high  praise  I  need 
only  mention  the  names  of  the  Rev.  Mr  Shal- 
low-Deep, the  Rev.  Mr.  Stumble-at-Truth, 
that  fine  old  clerical  character  the  Rev.  Mr. 
This-to  Day,  who  expects  shortly  to  resign 
his  pulpit  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  That-to-Morrow, 
together  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bewilderment, 


By  American  Authors,  31 

the  Rev.  Mr.  Clog-the-Spirit,  and,  last  and 
greatest,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wind-of-Doctrine. 
The  labors  of  these  eminent  divines  are 
aided  by  those  of  innumerable  lecturers, 
who  diffuse  such  a  various  profundity  in  all 
subjects  of  human  or  celestial  science  that 
any  man  may  acquire  an  omnigenous  erudi- 
tion without  the  trouble  of  even  learning  to- 
read.  Thus  literature  is  etherealized  by  as- 
suming for  its  medium  the  human  voice, 
and  knowledge,  depositing  all  its  heavier 
particles — except,  doubtless,  its  gold — be- 
comes exhaled  into  a  sound  which  forthwith 
steals  into  the  ever- open  ear  of  the  com- 
munity. These  ingenious  methods  consti- 
tute a  sort  of  machinery  by  which  thought 
and  study  are  done  to  every  person's  hand 
without  his  putting  himself  to  the  slightest 
inconvenience  in  the  matter.  There  is 
another  species  of  machine  for  the  whole- 
sale manufacture  of  individual  morality. 
This  excellent  result  is  effected  by  societies 
for  all  manner  of  virtuous  purposes,  and 
with  which  a  man  has  merely  to  connect 
himself,  throwing,  as  it  were,  his  quota  of 
virtue  into  the  common  stock,  and  the  presi- 
dent and  directors  will  take  care  that  the 
aggregate  amount  be  well  applied.  All 
these,  and  other  :vonderful  improvements  in 
ethics,  religion  and  literature,  being  made 
plain  to  my  comprehension  by  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Smooih-it-Away,  inspired  me  with  a 
vast  admiration  of  Vanity  Fair. 


32  Capital  Stories 

It  would  fill  a  volume  in  an  age  of  pam- 
phlets were  I  to  record  all  mj'  obser^^ations  in 
this  great  capital  of  human  business  and 
pleasure.  There  w^as  an  unlimited  range  of 
society — the  powerful,  the  wise,  the  witty 
and  the  famous  in  every  walk  of  life,  princes, 
presidents,  poets,  generals,  artists,  actors 
and  philanthropists — all  making  their  own 
market  at  the  fair,  and  deeming  no  price 
too  exorbitant  for  such  commodities  as 
hit  their  fancy.  It  was  well  worth  one's 
while,  even  if  he  had  no  idea  of  buving  or 
selling,  to  loiter  through  the  bazaars  and 
observe  the  various  sorts  of  traffic  that  were 
going  forward. 

Some  of  the  purchasers,  I  thought,  made 
very  foolish  bargains.  For  instance,  a 
young  man  having  inherited  a  splendid 
fortune  laid  out  a  considerable  portion  of  it 
in  the  purchase  of  diseases,  and  finally 
spent  all  the  rest  for  a  heavy  lot  of  repent- 
ance and  a  suit  of  rags.  A  ver}^  pretty  girl 
bartered  a  heart  as  clear  as  crystal,  and 
which  seemed  her  most  valuable  possession, 
for  another  jewel  of  the  same  kind,  but  so 
worn  and  defaced  as  to  be  utterly  worthless. 
In  one  shop  there  were  a  great  many  crowns 
of  laurel  and  myrtle,  which  soldiers, 
authors,  statesmen,  and  various  other  people 
pressed  eagerly  to  buy.  Some  purchased 
these  paltry  wreaths  with  their  lives,  others 
by  a  toilsome  servitude  of  years,  and  many 
sacrificed  whatever  was  most  valuable,  j'et 


By  American  Authors.  33 

finally  slunk  away  without  the  crown. 
There  was  a  sort  of  stock  or  scrip  called 
Conscience  which  seemed  to  be  in  great  de- 
mand and  would  purchase  almost  anything. 
Indeed,  few  rich  commodities  w^ere  to  be 
obtained  without  paying  a  heavy  sum  in 
this  particular  stock,  and  a  man's  business 
was  seldom  very  lucrative  unless  he  knew 
precisely  when  and  how  to  throw  his  hoard 
of  Conscience  into  the  market.  Yet,  as  this 
stock  was  the  only  thing  of  permanent 
value,  whoever  parted  with  it  was  sure  to 
find  himself  a  loser  in  the  long  run.  Several 
of  the  speculations  were  of  a  questionable 
character.  Occasionally  a  member  of  Con- 
gress recruited  his  pocket  by  the  sale  of  his 
constituents,  and  I  was  assured  that  public 
officers  have  often  sold  their  country  at  very 
moderate  prices.  Thousands  sold  their 
happiness  for  a  whim.  Gilded  chains  were 
in  great  demand,  and  purchased  with  almost 
any  sacrifice.  In  truth,  those  who  desired, 
according  to  the  old  adage,  to  sell  anything 
valuable  for  a  song,  might  find  customers 
all  over  the  fair,  and  there  were  innumer- 
able messes  of  pottage,  piping  hot,  for  such 
as  chose  to  buy  them  with  their  birthrights. 
A  few  articles,  however,  could  not  be  found 
genuine  at  Vanity  Fair.  If  a  customer 
wished  to  renevv^  his  stock  of  youth,  the 
dealers  offered  him  a  set  of  false  teeth  and  an 
auburn  wig  ;  if  he  demanded  peace  of  mind, 
they  recommended  opium  or  a  brandy- bottle. 


34  Capital  Stories 

Tracts  of  land  and  golden  mansions  situ- 
ate in  the  Celestial  City  were  often  ex- 
changed at  very  disadvantageous  rates  for  a 
few  years'  lease  of  small,  inconvenient  tene- 
ments in  Vanity  Fair.  Prince  Beelzebub 
himself  took  great  interest  in  this  sort  of 
traffic,  and  sometimes  condescended  to  med- 
dle with  smaller  matters.  I  once  had  the 
pleasure  to  see  him  bargaining  with  a  miser 
for  his  soul,  which  after  much  ingenious 
skirmishing  on  both  sides  His  Highness 
succeeded  in  obtaining  at  about  the  value 
of  sixpence.  The  prince  remarked  with  a 
smile  that  he  was  a  loser  by  the  transaction. 

Day  after  day,  as  I  walked  the  streets  of 
Vanity,  my  manners  and  deportment  be- 
came more  and  more  like  those  of  the  in- 
habitants. The  place  began  to  seem  like 
home  :  the  idea  of  pursuing  my  travels  to 
the  Celestial  City  was  almost  obliterated 
from  ray  mind.  I  was  reminded  of  it,  how- 
ever, by  the  sight  of  the  same  pair  of  simple 
pilgrims  at  whom  we  had  laughed  so 
heartily  when  Apollyon  puffed  smoke  and 
steam  into  their  faces  at  the  commencement 
of  our  journey.  There  they  stood  amid 
the  densest  bustle  of  Vanity,  the  dealers 
offering  them  their  purple  and  fine  linen  and 
jewels,  and  men  of  wit  and  humor  gibing 
at  them,  a  pair  of  buxom  ladies  ogling  them 
askance,  while  the  benevolent  Mr.  Smooth- 
it-Away  whispered  some  of  his  wisdom  at 
their  elbows  and  pointed  to  a  newly-erected 


By  American  Authors'.  35 

temple  ;  but  there  were  these  worthy  sim- 
pletons making  the  scene  look  wild  and 
monstrous  merely  by  their  sturdy  repudia- 
tion of  all  part  in  its  business  or  pleas- 
ures. 

One  of  them — his  name  was  Stick-to-the- 
Right — perceived  in  my  face,  I  suppose,  a 
species  of  sympathy,  and  almost  admira- 
tion, which,  to  my  own  great  surprise,  I 
could  not  help  feeling  for  this  pragmatic 
couple.     It  prompted  him  to  address  me. 

"Sir,"  inquired  he,  with  a  sad  yet  mild 
and  kindly  voice,  "do  you  call  yourself  a 
pilgrim?  " 

"Yes,"  I  replied;  "my  right  to  that 
appellation  is  indubitable.  I  am  merely  a 
sojourner  here  in  Vanity  Fair,  being  bound 
to  the  Celestial  City  by  the  new  railroad." 

"Alas,  friend!"  rejoined  Mr.  Stick-to- 
the-Right ;  "  I  do  assure  you,  and  beseech 
you  to  receive  the  truth  of  my  words,  that 
that  whole  concern  is  a  bubble.  You  may 
travel  on  it  all  your  lifetime,  were  you  to 
live  thousands  of  years,  and  yet  never  get 
beyond  the  limits  of  Vanity  Fair.  Yea, 
though  you  should  deem  yourself  entering 
the  gates  of  the  blessed  city,  it  will  be  noth- 
ing but  a  miserable  delusion." 

"The  Lord  of  the  Celestial  City,"  began 
the  other  pilgrim,  whose  name  was  Mr. 
Foot-it-to-Heaven,  "has  refused,  and  will 
ever  refuse,  to  grant  an  act  of  incorporation 
for  this  railroad,  and  unless  that  be  obtained 


36  Capital  Stories 

no  passenger  can  ever  hope  to  enter  his  do- 
minions ;  wherefore  every  man  who  buys  a 
ticket  must  lay  his  account  with  losing  the 
purchase-monej^  which  is  the  value  of  his 
own  soul." 

"  Poh  !  nonsense!"  said  Mr.  Smooth-it- 
Away,  taking  my  arm  and  leading  me  off ; 
"these  fellows  ought  to  be  indicted  for  a 
libel.  If  the  law  stood  as  it  once  did  in 
Vanity  Fair,  we  should  see  them  grinning 
through  the  iron  bars  of  the  prison  window. ' ' 

This  incident  made  a  considerable  im- 
pression on  my  mind,  and  contributed  with 
other  circumstances  to  indispose  me  to  a 
permanent  residence  in  the  City  of  Vanity, 
although,  of  course,  I  was  not  simple 
enough  to  give  up  my  original  plan  of  glid- 
ing along  easily  and  commodiously  by  rail- 
road. Still,  1  grew  anxious  to  be  gone. 
There  was  one  strange  thing  that  troubled 
me :  amid  the  occupations  or  amusements 
of  the  fair,  nothing  was  more  common  than 
for  a  person — whether  at  a  feast,  theatre  or 
church,  or  trafficking  for  wealth  and  honors, 
or  whatever  he  might  be  doing  and  however 
unseasonable  the  interruption — suddenly  to 
vanish  like  a  soap-bubble  and  be  nevermore 
seen  of  his  fellows  ;  and  so  accustomed  were 
the  latter  to  such  little  accidents  that  they 
went  on  with  their  business  as  quietly  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  But  it  was  other- 
wise with  me. 

Finally,   after  a  pretty  long  residence  at 


By  American  Authors,  37 

the  fair,  I  resumed  my  journey  toward  the 
Celestial  City,  still  with  Mr.  Smooth-it- 
Away  at  my  side.  At  a  short  distance  be- 
yond the  suburbs  of  Vanity  we  passed  the 
ancient  silver-mine  of  which  Demas  was  the 
first  discoverer,  and  which  is  now  wrought 
to  great  advantage,  supplying  nearly  all  the 
coined  currency  of  the  world.  A  little 
farther  onward  was  the  spot  where  Lot's 
wife  had  stood  for  ages  under  the  semblance 
of  a  pillar  of  salt.  Curious  travelers  have 
long  since  carried  it  away  piecemeal.  Had 
all  regrets  been  punished  as  rigorously  as 
this  poor  dame's  were,  my  yearning  for  the 
relinquished  delights  of  Vanity  Fair  might 
have  produced  a  similar  change  in  my  own 
corporeal  substance,  and  left  me  a  warning 
to  future  pilgrims. 

The  next  remarkable  object  was  a  large 
edifice  constructed  of  moss-grown  stone,  but 
in  a  modern  and  airy  style  of  architecture. 
The  engine  came  to  a  pause  in  its  vicinity 
with  the  usual  tremendous  shriek. 

'  *  This  was  formerly  the  castle  of  the  re- 
doubted Giant  Despair,"  observed  Mr. 
Smooth-it  Away,  "  but  since  his  death  Mr. 
Flimsy-Faith  has  repaired  it,  and  now  keeps 
an  excellent  house  of  entertainment  here. 
It  is  one  of  our  stopping  places. " 

"It  seems  but  slightly  put  together/* 
remarked  I,  looking  at  the  frail  yet  ponder- 
ous walls.  "  I  do  not  envy  Mr.  Flimsy- 
Faith   his  habitation.     Some    day    it    will 


38  Capital  Stories 

thunder  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  occu- 
pants." 

"We  shall  escape,  at  all  events,"  said 
Mr.  Smooth  it- Away,  "for  Apollyon  is 
putting  on  the  steam  again." 

The  road  now  plunged  into  a  gorge  of 
the  Delectable  Mountains,  and  traversed  the 
field  where  in  former  ages  the  blind  men 
wandered  and  stumbled  along  the  tombs. 
One  of  these  ancient  tombstones  had  been 
thrust  across  the  track  by  some  malicious 
person,  and  gave  the  train  of  cars  a  terrible 
jolt.  Far  up  the  rugged  side  of  a  moun- 
tain I  perceived  a  rusty  iron  door  half  over- 
grown with  bushes  and  creeping  plants,  but 
with  smoke  issuing  from  its  crevices. 

"  Is  that,"  inquired  I,  "the  very  door  in 
the  hillside  \vhich  the  shepherds  assured 
Christian  was  a  by-way  to  hell  ?  " 

"That  was  a  joke  on  the  part  of  the 
shepherds,''  said  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away,  with 
a  smile.  "  It  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  door  of  a  cavern  w^hich  they  use  as  a 
smoke-house  for  the  preparation  of  mutton- 
hams.  ' ' 

My  recollections  of  the  journey  are  now 
for  a  little  space  dim  and  confused,  inas- 
much as  a  singular  drowsiness  here  over- 
came me,  owing  to  the  fact  that  we  were 
passing  over  the  Enchanted  Ground,  the 
air  of  which  encourages  a  disposition  to 
sleep.  I  awoke,  however,  as  soon  as  we 
crossed  the  borders  of  the  pleasant  Land  of 


By  American  Authors.  39 

Beulah.  All  the  passengers  were  rubbing 
their  eyes,  comparing  watches  and  congrat- 
ulating one  another  on  the  prospect  of  ar- 
riving so  seasonably  at  the  journey's  end. 
The  sweet  breezes  of  this  happy  clime  came 
refreshingly  to  our  nostrils  ;  we  beheld  the 
glimmering  gush  of  silver  fountains  over- 
hung by  trees  of  beautiful  foliage  and  de- 
licious fruit,  which  were  propagated  by 
grafts  from  the  celestial  gardens.  Once,  as 
we  dashed  onward  like  a  hurricane,  there 
was  a  flutter  of  wings,  and  the  bright  ap- 
pearance of  an  angel  in  the  air  speeding 
forth  on  some  heavenly  mission. 

The  engine  now  announced  the  close 
vicinity  of  the  final  station-house  by  one 
last  and  horrible  scream  in  which  there 
seemed  to  be  distinguishable  every  kind  of 
wailing  and  woe  and  bitter  fierceness  of 
wrath,  all  mixed  up  with  the  wild  laughter 
of  a  devil  or  a  madman.  Throughout  our 
journe}^  at  every  stopping-place,  Apollyon 
had  exercised  his  ingenuity  in  screwing  the 
most  abominable  sounds  out  of  the  whistle 
of  the  steam-engine,  but  in  this  closing 
effort  he  outdid  himself,  and  created  an  in- 
fernal uproar  which,  besides  disturbing  the 
peaceful  inhabitants  of  Beulah,  must  have 
sent  its  discord  even  through  the  celestial 
gates. 

While  the  horrid  clamor  was  still  ringing 
in  our  ears  we  heard  an  exulting  strain,  as 
if  a   thousand  instruments   of  music   with 


40  Capital  Stories 

height  and  depth  and  sweetness  in  their 
tones,  at  once  tender  and  triumphant,  were 
struck  in  unison  to  greet  the  approach  of 
some  illustrious  hero  who  had  fought  the 
good  fight  and  won  a  glorious  victory,  and 
was  come  to  lay  aside  his  battered  arms  for- 
ever. Looking  to  ascertain  what  might  be 
the  occasion  of  this  glad  harmony,  I  per- 
ceived, on  alighting  from  the  cars,  that  a 
multitude  of  shining  ones  had  assembled  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  to  welcome  two 
poor  pilgrims  who  were  just  emerging  from 
its  depths.  They  were  the  same  whom 
Apollyon  and  ourselves  had  persecuted  with 
taunts  and  gibes  and  scalding  steam  at  the 
commencement  of  our  journey — the  same 
whose  unworldly  aspect  and  impressive 
words  had  stirred  my  conscience  amid  the 
wild  revelers  of  Vanity  Fair. 

"  How  amazingly  well  those  men  have 
got  on!"  cried  I  to  Mr.  Sm.ooth-it-Away. 
' '  I  wish  we  were  secure  of  as  good  a  re- 
ception." 

"  Never  fear  !  never  fear  !  "  anfAvered  my 
friend.  "Come!  make  haste.  The  ferry- 
boat will  be  off  directly,  and  in  three  min- 
utes you  will  be  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  No  doubt  you  will  find  coaches  to 
carry  3^ou  up  to  the  city  gates." 

A  steam  ferry-boat — the  last  improvement 
on  this  important  route — lay  at  the  river- 
side puffing,  snorting  and  emitting  all  those 
other  disat::recable  utterances  which  betoken 


By  Amcrica7i  Authoi^s.  41 

the  departure  to  be  immediate.  I  hurried  on 
board  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers,  most 
of  whom  were  in  great  perturbation,  some 
bawUng  out  for  their  baggage,  some  tearing 
their  hair  and  exclaiming  that  the  boat 
would  explode  or  vsink,  some  already  pale 
with  the  heaving  of  the  stream,  some  gaz- 
ing affrighted  at  the  ugly  aspect  of  the 
steersman,  and  some  still  dizzy  with  the 
slumberous  influences  of  the  Enchanted 
Ground. 

Looking  back  to  the  shore.  I  was  amazed 
to  discern  Mr.  Smooth-it- Away  waving  his 
hand  in  token  of  farewell. 

"Don't  you  go  over  to  the  Celestial 
City?  "  exclaimed  I. 

**Oh,  no!"  answered  he,  with  a  queer 
smile  and  that  same  disagreeable  contortion 
of  visage  which  I  had  remarked  in  the  in- 
habitants of  the  dark  valle}' — "oh,  no!  I 
have  come  thus  far  only  for  the  sake  of  your 
pleasant  company.  Good-bye  !  We  shall 
meet  again." 

And  then  did  my  excellent  friend,  Mr. 
Smooth-itAway,  laugh  outright ;  in  the 
midst  of  which  cachinnation  a  smoke- 
wreath  issued  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils, 
while  a  twinkle  of  lurid  flame  darted  out  of 
either  eye,  proving  indubitably  that  his 
heart  Vv^as  all  of  a  red  blaze.  The  impudent 
fiend  !  To  deny  the  existence  of  Tophet 
when  he  felt  its  fiery  tortures  raging  within 
his  breast !   I  rushed  to  the  side  of  the  boat, 


42  Capital  Stories 

intending  to  fling  myself  on  shore,  but  the 
wheels,  as  they  began  their  revolutions, 
threw  a  dash  of  spray  over  me,  so  cold — so 
deadly  cold  with  the  chill  that  will  never 
leave  those  waters  until  Death  be  drowned 
in  his  own  river — that  with  a  shiver  and  a 
heartquake  I  awoke. 
Thank  Heaven  it  was  a  dream  ! 


A  CHASE  FOR  A  WIFE. 

BY  T.    C.    HALIBURTON. 

In  the  morning  all  the  guests  assisted 
Mr.  Neal  and  his  men  in  endeavoring  to 
cut  a  passage  through  the  enormous  drift 
that  had  obstructed  our  progress  on  the 
night  of  our  arrival.  Although  apparentl}^ 
a  work  of  vast  labor,  the  opening  was,  in 
fact,  effected  with  great  ease,  and  in  an  in- 
credibly short  space  of  time.  The  drift 
shovel  is  made  of  dry  wood,  weighs  very 
little,  and  lifts  a  large  quantity  of  snow  at 
once.  There  were  no  arrivals  during  the 
day,  nor  did  any  of  the  party  at  Mount 
Hope  venture  to  leave  it  and  become  pion- 
eers. In  the  afternoon  we  adjourned 
again,  for  the  last  time,  to  the  Keeping 
Room,  for  Barclay  expressed  his  determi- 
nation to  force  his  way  to  lUinoo  on  the 


By  American  Authors.  45. 

following  day,  and  Mr.  Stephen  Richardson 
said,  as  the  road  to  Halifax  would,  from  its 
position,  be  so  much  more  obstructed  than 
that  which  lay  through  the  woods,  he  had 
resolved  to  leave  his  horse,  and  perform  the 
remaining  part  of  the  journey  on  snow- 
shoes. 

'■  I  can't  say  my  business  is  so  very  ur- 
gent, neither,"  he  observed  ;  "but  I  can't 
bear  to  be  idle,  and  when  a  man's  away 
from  home  things  don't,  in  a  general  way, 
go  ahead  so  fast,  or  get  so  well  done,  as 
when  he  is  to  the  fore.  Them  that  work 
never  think  ;  and  if  the  thinking  man  is 
away,  the  laboring  men  may  as  well  be 
away  also,  for  the  chances  are  they  will 
work  wrong,  and,  at  any  rate,  they  are  sure 
to  work  badly.  That's  my  idea,  at  any 
rate.  But  there  is  one  comfort,  anyhow  ; 
there  is  no  fishery  law  where  I  live  ;  and  if 
there  was,  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Richardson, 
my  wife,  would  be  altogether  just  so  sharp- 
upon  me  as  Luke  Loon's  was.  I  must  tell 
you  that  story,  Miss  Lucy.  For  instance, 
folks  like  you  have  no  idea  of  what  is  going 
on  sometimes  seaboard  wa3'S.  Plowing  the 
land  and  plowing  the  sea  is  about  as 
different  things  as  may  be,  and  yet  they 
ain't  more  different  than  them  who  turn  the 
furrows  or  hold  the  tiller.  It  ain't  no  easy 
matter  to  give  you  an  idea  of  a  fishing- 
station  ;  but  I'll  try,  miss. 

**  We  have  two  sorts  of  emigrants  to  this 


44  Capital  Stoiies 

province  of  Nova  Scotia,  do  you  observe  ; 
droves  of  paupers  from  Europe,  and  shoals 
of  fish  from  the  sea  ;  old  Nick  sends  one, 
and  the  Lord  sends  the  other  ;  one  we  have 
to  feed,  and  the  other  feeds  us  ;  one  brings 
destitution,  distress,  and  disease,  and  the 
other  health,  wealth,  and  happiness.  Well, 
when  our  friends  the  mackerel  strike  in 
toward  the  shore,  and  travel  round  the  pro- 
vince to  the  northward,  the  whole  coasting 
population  is  on  the  stir,  too.  Perhaps 
there  never'  was  seen,  under  the  blessed 
light  of  the  sun,  anything  like  the  everlast- 
ing number  of  mackerel  in  one  shoal  on 
our  sea-coast.  Millions  is  too  little  a  word 
for  it  ;  acres  of  them  is  too  small  a  term  to 
give  a  right  notion  ;  miles  of  them,  per- 
haps, is  more  like  the  thing  ;  and  when 
they  rise  to  the  surface,  it's  a  solid  body 
of  fish  you  sail  through.  It's  a  beautiful 
sight  to  see  them  tumbling  into  a  harbor, 
head  over  tail,  and  tail  over  head,  jumping 
and  thumping,  sputtering  and  fluttering, 
lashing  and  thrashing,  with  a  gurgling  kind 
of  sound,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Here  we  are, 
my  hearties  !  How  are  you  off  for  salt  ?  Is 
your  barrels  all  ready? — because  we  are. 
So  bear  a  hand,  and  out  wuth  3'our  nets,  as 
we  are  off  to  the  next  harbor  to-morrow,  and 
don't  wait  for  such  lazy  fellows  as  you  be.' 
Well,  when  they  come  in  shoals  that  way, 
the  fishermen  come  in  swarms,  too.  Oh,  it 
beats   all   natur — that's  a  fact !      Did  you 


By  American  AtiUiors.  45 

ever  stand  on  a  beach,  miss,  or  on  a  pasture, 
that's  on  a  river,  or  on  a  bay,  and  see  a  great 
flock  oT  plover,  containing  hundreds,  and 
hundreds,  and  hundreds  of  birds,  come  and 
light  all  at  once  in  one  spot,  where  a  minute 
afore  there  warnt  one?  Well,  that's  the 
way  with  humans  on  the  fishery-stations. 
Take  Crow  Harbor  now,  or  Fox  Island,  or 
Just-au-Corps  Point,  or  Louisburg,  or  any 
of  them  places,  whenever  the  fish  strike  in, 
they  are  all  crowded  right  up  in  a  minute, 
chock  full  of  people  from  all  parts  of  these 
colonies  and  Eastern  States  of  America,  in 
flats  and  boats,  and  decked  vessels,  and 
shallops,  and  schooners,  and  pinks,  and 
sloops,  and  smacks,  and  every  kind  and 
sort  of  small  craft ;  and,  in  course,  where 
there  are  such  a  number  of  men,  the  few 
women  that  live  near  at  hand  just  lay  down 
the  law  their  own  way,  and  carry  things 
with  a  high  hand.  Like  all  other  legis- 
lators, too,  they  make  'nactments  to  suit 
themselves.  Petticoat  government  is  a  petty 
tyrannical  government,  I  tell  you." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Stephen  !  "  said  Miss  Lucy. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  miss,  I  actilly  forgat 
that  time,"  he  continued.'  "  I  did  make  a 
hole  in  my  manners  that  pitch,  I  grant,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  It  don't  do  to  tell  the 
truth  at  all  times,  that's  a  fact.  The  fishery 
regulation  that  I  am  a-going  to  speak  of  is 
repealed  now,  I  guess,  everywhere  a' most, 
except  at  the  Magdalen  Islands,  and  there, 


46  Capital  Stories 

I  believe,  it  is  in  full  force  3'et,  and  carried 
-out  very  strict ;  but  I  recollect  when  it  pre- 
vailed here  at  Shad  Harbor,  and  poor  Luke 
Loon  suffered  under  it.  Time  flies  so,  a 
body  can  hardly  believe,  when  they  look 
back,  that  things  that  seem  as  if  they  hap- 
pened yesterday,  actilly  took  place  twenty 
years  ago  :  but  so  it  is,  and  it  appears  to  me 
sometimes,  as  if  the  older  events  are,  the 
clearer  they  be  in  the  mind  ;  but  I  suppose 
it  is  because  they  are  like  the  lines  of  our 
farms  in  the  woods,  so  often  blazed  anew, 
by  going  over  agin  and  agin,  they  are  kept 
fresh  and  plain.  Howsumever  that  may  be, 
it's  about  the  matter  of  nineteen  years  ago 
■come  next  February,  when  that  misfor- 
tunate  crittur,  Luke  Loon,  came  to  me  iu  a 
most  desperate  pucker  of  a  hurry — 

"'Steve,'  says  he,  'for  Heaven's  sake! 
let  me  have  a  horse,  that's  a  good  fellow — 
will  you?  to  go  to  Shad  Harbor;  and  I'll 
pay  you  anything  in  the  world  you'll  ask 
for  it.' 

"  '  Are  you  in  a  great  hurry  ? '  said  I. 

**  *  I  must  clap  on  all  sail  and  scud  before 
the  wind  like  the  mischief.  I  haven't  a 
minit  to  lose,'  said  he. 

**  '  Then  you  can't  have  him,'  said  I,  '  for 
you  w^ill  ride  the  beast  too  fast.' 

' '  You  never  saw  a  feller  so  taken  a-back, 
and  so  chap-fallen,  in  all  3'our  life.  He 
walked  about  the  room,  and  wrung  his 
hands,    and   groaned   as   if  his   heart   was 


By  American  Authors.  47 

breaking,  and  at  last  he  fairly  boo-hooed 
right  out 

"  'O  my  soul  ! '  said  he^  '  I  shall  lose 
Miss  Loon,  my  wife,  for  a  sartenty  !  I  shall 
be  adrift  again  in  the  world,  as  sure  as  fate  ! 
I  have  only  to  morrow  to  reach  home  in  ; 
for,  by  the  law  of  the  fishery,  if  a  man  is 
absent  over  three  months,  his  wife  can  marry 
again  ;  and  the  time  will  be  up  in  twenty- 
four  hours.   What  onder  the  sun  shall  I  do  ?  ' 

"  *  If  that's  the  sort  of  gal  she  is,  Luke,' 
said  I,  'she  won't  keep;  let  her  run  into 
another  man's  net  if  she  likes,  for  she  won't 
stand  the  inspection  brand,  and  ain't  a 
No.  I  article  !  Do  you  just  bait  your  hook 
and  try  your  luck  again,  for  there  is  as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  was  ever  hauled  out 
of  it  ! ' 

**  But  he  carried  on  so  after  the  gal,  and 
took  it  so  much  to  heart,  I  actilly  pitied  the 
crittur  ;  and  at  last  consented  to  let  him  have 
the  horse.  Poor  fellow  !  he  was  too  late, 
after  all.  His  wife,  the  cunning  minx,  to 
make  up  time,  counted  the  day  of  sailing  as 
one  day,  which  was  onfair,  oncustomary, 
and  contrary  to  the  fishery  laws  ;  and  was 
married  again  the  night  before  he  arrived  to 
big  Tom  Bullock,  of  Owl's  Head.  When 
Luke  heard  it  he  nearly  went  crazy  ;  he 
raved  and  carried  on  so,  and  threatened  to 
shoot  Tom,  seeing  that  he  wasn't  able  to 
thrash  him  ;  but  the  more  he  raved  the 
more  the  neighbors'   boys  and   gals  made 


48  Capital  Stories 

game  of  him,  following  him  about  and  sing- 
ing out — 

"  '  Get  out  of  the  way,  old  Dan  Tucker. 
You  are  too  late  to  come  to  supper  !  ' 

And  fairly  tormented  him  out  of  the  fisher}-- 
station." 

"Ah!"  said  Miss  Lucy,  *'I  know  you 
made  up  that  story — didn't  you,  now^?  It 
ain't  true,  is  it?  " 

"Fact!  I  assure  you,"  said  Stephen. 
"  Theie  is  others  besides  me  that's  a  know^- 
ing  to  it." 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  said  the  young  lady. 
"  That  beats  all  I  ever  heard.  Oh,  my!  what 
folks  fishing  people  must  be  !  " 

"Well,  there  are  some  droll  things  done, 
and  droll  people  to  do  them  in  this  world," 
replied  Stephen. 

An  exclamation  from  one  of  the  little  boys 
called  Miss  Lucy's  attention  to  him,  and 
she  sent  the  little  culprit  off  to  bed,  not- 
withstanding Mr.  Stephen's  earnest  en- 
treaties to  the  contrary.  The  young  lady 
was  inexorable.     She  said — 

"That  in  an  establishment  like  that  of 
Mount  Hope,  nothing  could  be  accomplished 
without  order  and  regularit}'  ;  and  that  there 
were  certain  rules  in  the  household  which 
were  never  deviated  from  on  any  account 
whatever." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  inquired  Ste- 
phen, "that  you  have  rules  you  never  alter 


By  American  Authors.  49 

or  bend  a  little  on  one  side,  if  you  don't 
break  them,  do  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Miss  Lucy;  "I 
couldn't  keep  house  if  I  didn't." 

"  Well,  you  must  break  one  of  them  for 
me  to-night,  my  little  rosebud  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  not !  " 

"Oh,  but  you  must  !  " 

"Oh.  but  I  must  not  !" 

"Oh,  but  you  will,  tho'  !" 

"Oh,  but  I  won't,  tho'  !" 

"Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Stephen; 
"but  you  are  too  hard  on  tho'-e  poor  little 
fellows.  They  are  nice,  manly  little  boys, 
and  I  love  them  ;  and,  after  all,  what  is  it 
they  did,  now?" 

"  What  became  of  poor  Luke  ?"  said  the 
inflexible  hostess,  in  order  to  turn  the  con- 
versation. "  I  should  like  to  hear  the  rest 
of  that  story." 

"Poor  little  dears!"  said  Stephen,  re- 
gardless of  the  question. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  boys,  Mr.  Stephen," 
she  replied.  "  It's  time  they  went  to  bed, 
at  any  rate  ;  but  Luke  ! — did  you  ever  hear 
of  him  afterward  ?  ' ' 

"I  didn't  think  you  would  be  so  hard- 
hearted, now.  Miss  Lucy,"  he  said,  pur- 
suing- the  subject. 

"Now,  Mr.  Stephen,  there  is  just  one 
favor  1  have  to  ask  of  you." 

"Granted  before  told,"  he  replied. 
"  Anything  under  the  sun  I  can  do  for  you, 


50  Capital  Stories 

miss,  either  by  day  or  by  night,  I  am  read}' 
to  do.  I  only  wish  we  had  plenty  more  of 
such  well  broughten  up,  excellent  house- 
keepers as  you  be,  and  such  rail  right  down 
hand " 

"Now,  don't  talk  nonsense,"  she  said. 
"  or  I  am  done.  But  just  tell  me,  that's  a 
good  soul,  is  that  story  of  yours  about  Luke 
Loon  true,  or  were  yoM  only  romancing? 
Is  it  a  bam  or  a  fact  ?  ' ' 

"Fact,  miss,  and  no  mistake.  Do  you 
think,  now,  I  would  go  for  to  deceive  you 
that  way  ?  No,  not  for  the  world.  It's  as 
true  as  I  am  here." 

**  Well,  it's  a  very  odd  story,  then,"  said 
Miss  Lucy — "  the  oddest  story  I  ever  heard 
in  all  my  life.  What  a  wretch  that  woman 
must  have  been.  And  poor  Luke,  what 
became  of  him  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  replied  Stephen, 
with  a  serious  air — "  don't  ask  me  that; 
anything  else  but  that." 

"Ah.'do!" 

"  I'd  rather  not,  excuse  me,  miss." 

"  Did  he  die  of  a  broken  heart  ?  " 

"Worse  than  that." 

"  Did  he  make  'way  with  himself?  " 

'  *  Worse  than  that. ' ' 

"  Get  desperate,  do  something  awful,  and 
get  hanged  for  it  ?  " 

"Worse  than  that." 

"  Oh,  my  !  didn't  you  say  just  now  you'd 
do  anything  for  me — Oh  !  you  false  man  ! 


By  American  Authors.  51 

And  now  you  have  raised  my  curiosity  so, 
I  actilly  can't  go  to  sleep  till  I  hear  it.  Do 
yoii  know  the  story,  Mr.  Barclay  ?' ' 

"  No  ;  if  I  did,  I  would  tell  it  to  you  with 
pleasure. ' ' 

"  Do  you,  sir?"  applying  to  the  commis- 
sary. 

"  No,  I  never  heard  it." 

"Is  there  no  one  knows  it?  Oh,  how 
stupid  of  you,  Mr.  Stephen,  to  tease  a  body 

so  !  You  might,   now Come,    that's   a 

dear  man,  do  tell  me  !  " 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Stephen,  with  a 
sad  and  melancholy  air,  "it's  a  dismal, 
shocking  story  ;  and  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  it,  much  less  to  talk  of  it.  You  won't 
sleep  to-night,  if  I  tell  it  to  you,  neither 
shall  I  :  and  I  know  you  will  wish  I  had  let 
it  alone.     It  was  an  untimely  thing," 

"What?" 

"  The  end  of  poor  Luke  ! ' ' 

*  *  Then  he  is  dead — is  he  ?  " 

**  I  didn't  say  he  was  dead." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Stephen,"  she  said,  "don't 
tease,  now,  that's  a  good  man  !"  and  she 
rose  up,  and  stood  behind  his  chair,  and 
patted  his  cheek  with  her  hand  coaxingly. 
"I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  if 
you  will  tell  me  that  story." 

"Well,"  said  Stephen,  "  I  give  in  ;  if  I 
must,  I  suppose  I  must ;  but  mind,  I  warned 
you  beforehand  ! ' ' 

And  then,  looking  round,  and  taking  up 


52  Capital  Stories. 

an  empty  decanter,  as  if  to  help  himself  to 
some  more  lemonade  before  he  began,  he 
affected  surprise  at  there  being  nothing  in  it, 
and,  handing  it  to  the  young  hostess  said — 

**I  must  have  the  matter  of  half-a-pint 
of  lemonade  to  get  through  with  this  dismal 
affair." 

"  Certainly,  certainl}^ ;  anything  you 
please  !  "  said  Miss  Lucy,  who  immediately 
proceeded  to  a  room,  situated  in  the  other 
part  of  the  house,  to  procure  it. 

As  soon  as  she  left  the  room,  Stephen 
looked  up  and  laughed,  saying — 

**  Didn't  I  manage  that  well?  They  are 
very  strict  people  here  about  hours,  and 
nothing  in  the  world  will  tempt  them  to 
open  the  door  after  twelve  at  night.  That  is 
one  of  the  rules  she  never  breaks,  she  says  ; 
but  I  told  her  I'd  make  her  doit,  and  I  have 
succeeded  unbeknown  to  her.  I  never  saw 
it  fail  3^et :  pique  a  woman's  curiosity,  and 
she'll  unlock  her  door,  her  purse,  her  heart, 
or  anything,  for  you.  They  can't  stand  it. 
In  fact,  it  aint  a  bad  story,  but  it's  too  long 
to  get  through  without  moistening  one's 
lips.  Ah,  miss,  there  is  no  resisting  3'ou  !  " 
he  continued,  as  the  3'oung  lady  returned. 

"  No  resisting  the  lemonade,  3'ou  mean  !  " 
retorted  Miss  Lucy.  "  I  believe  in  my  soul, 
you  did  it  a  purpose  to  make  me  break 
rules  ;  but,  come,  begin  now." 

"Well,  here's  my  service  to  you,  miss, 
and   your  very  good   health  !    Now,    poor 


By  Afnerican  Authors.  53 

Luke  Loon,  arter  his  wife  gin  him  the  dodge 
(like  all  other  water  fowl  when  they  are 
scared  out  of  one  harbor  light  in  another), 
made  for  Snug  Cove  in  Micmac  Bay,  where 
there  is  a' most  a  grand  mackerel  fishery. 
At  the  head  of  the  cove  there  lived  one  old 
Marni  Bowers,  a  widow  woman,  with  whom 
Luke  went  to  board.  Poor  crittur  !  he  was 
very  dull  and  downhearted,  for  he  was  raily 
wery  fond  of  the  gal  :  and,  besides,  when  a 
man  is  desarted  that  way ,  it's  a  kind  of  sight 
put  on  him  that  nobody  likes " 

" '  I  guess  not, ' '  said  Miss  Lucy  ;  ' '  but  he 
was  well  rid  of  that  horrid  wretch." 

' '  People  kind  of  look  at  him  and  whisper, 
and  say,  '  That's  Luke  Loon — him  that  big 
Tom  Bullock  cut  out ! '  And  then  sarcy 
people  are  apt  to  throw  such  misfortunes 
into  a  man's  face.  It  ain't  pleasant,  I  don't 
suppose.  Well,  Luke  said  nothing  to  any- 
bod3%  minded  his  own  business,  and  was 
getting  on  well,  and  laying  by  money  hand 
over  hand,  for  he  w^as  a  great  fisherman, 
and  understood  the  Yankee  mode  of  feeding 
and  enticing  mackerel.  Everybody  liked 
him,  and  Mother  Bowers  pitied  him,  and 
was  very  kind  to  him.  The  old  woman  had 
three  daughters  ;  two  of  them  were  nothing 
to  brag  on,  but  the  other — that  is,  the 
youngest — was  a  doll.  Oh,  she  was  a  little 
beauty,  you  may  depend  !  She  was  gener- 
ally allowed  to  be  the  handsomest  gal  out 
of  sight  on  the  whole  coast,  far  and  near,  by 


54  Capital  Stories 

high  and  low,  black  or  white,  rich  or  poor. 
But  that  \varn't  all  ;  perhaps  there  never 
was  one  that  was  so  active  on  her  pins  as 
she  was.  She  could  put  her  hands  on  the 
highest  fence  (that  is,  anything  she  could 
reach),  and  go  sideways  over  it  like  any- 
thing ;  or  step  back  a  few  paces,  hold  up  her 
little  petticoats  to  her  knees,  and  clear  it  like 
a  bird.  Stumps,  gates,  brooks,  hillocks, 
nor  hollows,  never  stopped  her.  She  scarcely 
seemed  to  touch  the  ground,  she  was  so 
light  of  foot.  When  she  was  a  half-grown 
gal,  she  used  to  run  young  men  across  the 
field  as  the  crows  flies  for  a  dollar  or  a 
pound  of  tea  agin  a  kiss,  and  she  kept  up 
the  practice  after  she  had  grown  up  a  young 
woman  ;  but  she  raised  her  price  to  two 
dollars,  so  as  not  to  be  challenged  too  often. 
Many  a  young  man,  in  follering  her  over  a 
fence,  has  fell,  and  sprained  his  ankle,  or 
put  his  shoulder  out,  or  nearly  broke  his 
neck  ;  while  she  was  never  known  to  trip, 
or  to  be  caught  and  kissed  by  no  one." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Miss  Lucy,  "what 
carryings  on!  What  broughtens  up  !  W^hat 
next,  I  wonder  !  " 

"  Well,  Luke,  though  he  warn't  so  large, 
or  so  tall,  bony,  and  strong  as  Tom  Bullock, 
was  a  withy,  wiry  active  man — few  like  him 
anywhere ;  wrestling,  running,  rowing, 
jumping,  or  shinning  up  rigging  ;  and  he 
thought  he'd  have  a  trial  with  Sally  Bowers, 
for  a  kiss  or  a  forfeit." 


By  American  Authors.  55 

*'  He  seems  to  have  got  over  his  troubles 
very  easy,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Lucy,  "to 
begin  racing  so  soon  with  that  forward, 
sarcy  gal.     Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Tell  you  what,  miss,"  he  replied,  "  man 
was  never  made  to  live  alone,  as  is  shown 
by  his  being  able  to  talk,  which  no  other 
animal  is,  and  that  is  a  proof  he  must  have 
a  woman  to  talk  to.  A  man's  heart  is  a 
cage  for  love  ;  and,  if  one  love  gives  him 
the  dodge,  there's  the  cage,  and  the  perch, 
and  the  bars,  and  the  water-glass,  all  so 
lonely  and  desolate,  he  must  get  another 
love  and  put  into  it.  And  therefore  it  was 
natural  for  Luke  to  feel  all-over-like  when 
he  looked  upon  such  a  little  fairy  as  Sally." 

"Pooh  !"  said  Miss  Lucy.     ''Goon." 

"'So,'  says  he,  'mother,'  says  he, 
'  here's  the  money  ;  I  should  like  to  run 
Sally  ;  I  kind  of  consait  I  can  go  it  as  fast 
as  she  can,  although  she  is  a  clinker-built 
craft. ' 

"  '  Nonsense,  Luke,'  she  said  ;  *  you  are 
no  touch  to  a  fore-and-after  like  Sally. 
Don't  be  foolish  ;  I  don't  want  your  money. 
Here,  take  it !  You  have  lost  enough,  al- 
ready, poor  fellow^  without  losing  your 
money  ! ' 

"  That  kind  of  grigged  Luke,  for  no  one 
likes  to  have  mishaps  cast  up  that  way, 
even  in  pity. 

"  '  What  will  you  bet  I  don't  catch  her  ?  ' 
says  he. 


56  Capital  Stories 

**  '  I'll  bet  3'ou  a  pound,'  said  she.  '  No, 
I  won't  either,  'cause  it's  only  a  robbing  of 
you  ;  but  Salh'  shall  give  you  a  chance,  at 
any  rate,  if  it's  only  to  take  the  consait  out 
of  you.' 

"So  she  called  in  her  darter. 

"  '  Sally,'  says  vShe,  '  Luke  is  teasing  me 
to  let  him  run  a  race  to  kiss  or  forfeit  with 
you. ' 

"  '  Who — you  ?  '  said  she. 

"  '  Yes,  me  ! '  said  Luke. 

"  '  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  j'ou  have 
the  vanity  to  run  me,  do  j-ou  ?  ' 

"'I  do,  though.' 

*'  She  made  a  spring  right  up  an  eend,  till 
her  head  touched  the  ceiling  a' most,  came 
down  with  one  foot  out  a  good  piece  afore 
the  other,  and  one  arm  akimbo  ;  then,  stoop- 
ing forward,  and  pointing  with  the  other 
close  into  his  face — 

"  '  You  !  '  she  said — '  you  !  Well,  if  that 
don't  pass  !  I  wonder  who  will  challenge 
me  next !  Why,  man  alive,  I  could  jump 
over  your  head  so  high  you  couldn't  touch 
my  foot !  But  here's  at  you,  at  any  rate. 
I'll  go  and  shoe,  and  will  soon  make  you 
look  foolish,  I  know.' 

"Well,  she  took  the  twenty  yards'  start 
which  she  always  had,  and  off  they  .sot,  and 
she  beat  him  all  holler,  and  would  haul  up 
now  and  then,  turn  round,  and  step  back- 
ward, with  short,  quick,  light  steps,  a-tip- 
toe,  and  beckon   him  with  her  hand,  and 


By  American  Authors.  57 

say,  '  Don't  you  hope  you  may  ketch  me  > 
Do  I  swim  too  fast  for  you,  my  young  blow- 
ing porpoise  ?  '  And  then  point  her  finger 
at  him,  and  laugh  like  anything,  and  round 
agin,  and  off  like  the  wind,  and  over  a  fence 
like  a  greyhound.  Luke  never  said  a  word, 
but  kept  steadily  on,  so  as  to  save  his  wind 
(for  it  warn't  the  first  time  he  had  run  foot- 
races) ;  and  at  last  he  began  to  gain  on  her 
by  main  strength.  Away  she  flew,  when  she 
found  that,  over  stump  land,  wild  pasture, 
windfalls,  and  everything,  turned  at  the 
goal-tree,  and  pulled  foot  for  home  for  dear 
life.  Luke  reached  the  tree  soon  after,  anr* 
then  came  the  tug  of  the  race  ;  but  he  had 
the  endurance  and  the  wind,  and  overhauled 
her  as  she  ascended  the  hill  behind  the 
house,  and  caught  her  just  as  she  was  fall- 
ing. She  was  regularly  beat  out,  and  panted 
like  a  hare,  and  lay  in  his  arms,  with  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  and  her  eyes  shut,  al- 
most insensible. 

'* '  Sally,  dear  ! '  said  he  ;  and  he  kissed 
her,  but  she  didn't  speak. 

'"Dear  Sally!  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?' 
and  he  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

'* '  Speak,  for  Heaven's  sake,  dear,  or  you 
will  break  my  heart !  Oh,  what  an  unfor- 
tunate man  I  be  ! ' 

"At  last  she  kind  of  woke  up. 

"'Luke,'  said  she,  'don't  tell  mother 
that  you  caught  me,  that's  a  good  soul  \ 
There,  now  !  ' — and  she  put  her  arms  round 


58  Capital  Stories 

his  neck  and  kissed  him — '  there,  now,  is 
your  forfeit  !  I've  come  to,  now  ;  let  me 
go  :  and  do  3-011  follow,  but  don't  push  me 
too  hard,  for  I'm  fairly  blown,'  and  she 
took  over  the  hill,  and  he  after  her  at  a  con- 
siderable distance. 

*'  When  they  got  back,  said  old  Mother 
Bowers — 

"  *  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  I^uke  !  I  knowed 
you  couldn't  do  it :  no  man  ever  did  it  yet  • 
I  hope  you  feel  easier,  now  your  comb  is 
cut.  Here's  your  forfeit,  I  don*t  want  it ! 
But  this  I  will  sa}^  you  have  made  a  great 
run  for  it.  at  any  rate — the  best  I  ever  see 
any  one  make  yet !  ' 

"'Who?'  said  Sally.  'Do  you  mean 
him  ? '  and  she  sprung  up  as  before,  and, 
coming  down  the  same  way  on  her  feet,  and 
pointing  at  him  with  her  fingers,  jeering 
like,  said,  '  Who  ? — him  ! — him  !— why  the 
clumsy  lumokin  feller  don't  know  how  even 
to  begin  to  run  !  I  hope  3'ou  feel  better,  sir?  ' 

**  '  Well,  I  do,'  said  Luke,  '  that's  a  fact  ; 
and  I  should  like  to  run  you  again,  for  I 
have  an  idea  next  time  I  could  catch  you  in 
rail  airnest  ! ' 

"*You  do,  do  you?'  said  she;  'then 
your  "  like  "  is  all  you  are  likely  to  get,  for 
I  never  run  any  one  twice. '  ' ' 

**0  my!"  said  Miss  Lucy,  "what  an 
artful,  false  girl  !  Well,  I  never  !  But  is  that 
all?  is  that  what  you  call  such  a  dismal 
story?" 


By  American  Authors.  59 

"Oh,  I  wish  it  was,"  said  Stephen.  "The 
other  is  the  end,  but  this  is  the  beginning. 
I'll  tell  3^ou  the  next  to-morrow  ;  it's  getting 
late  now.  Don't  press  me,  my  little  rose- 
bud ;  it's  really  too  sad." 

"Ah,  now,  you  promised  me,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  it's  so  different  from  anything 
I  ever  heard  before  !  Ah,  do,  that's  a  good 
man  ! ' ' 

"  It's  too  long  a  story,  it  will  take  all 
night." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  does  take  all  night,  I 
want  to  hear  the  end  of  it !  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  afraid  I  must  trouble 
you  again,  miss,"  handing  her  the  empty 
decanter,  "  for  I've  drank  it  all  before  I've 
got  to  the  part  that  touches  the  heart  !  " 

"Ah,  Mr.  Stephen,"  she  replied,  "I'll 
get  it  for  you,  though  I  know  you  are  mak- 
ing game  of  me  all  the  time  ;  but  if  you  are, 
I'll  be  upsides  with  you  some  of  these  days, 
see  if  I  don't ! — What  an  awful  man  to  drink 
you  are  !"  she  said,  as  she  returned  with 
the  liquor.     "  Here  it  is  :  now  go  on," 

"Well,  arter  the  race,  I^uke  felt  a  kind 
of  affection  for  the  young  gal,  and  she  for 
him.  And  he  proposed  to  the  old  woman 
to  marry  her,  but  she  wouldn't  hear  to  it  at 
no  rate.  Women  don't  much  care  to  have 
a  jilted  man  that  way  for  their  darters  ; 
cast-off  things  ain't  like  new,  and  .second- 
hand articles  ain't  prized  in  a  general  way  ; 
and  beside,  the  old  lady  was  kind  of  proud 


6o  Capital  Stories 

of  her  girl,  and  thought  she  might  make  a 
better  match  than  taking  up  with  the  likes 
of  him.  At  last  winter  came,  and  things 
were  going  on  in  this  dissatisfactory  kind 
of  waj^  when  a  thought  struck  I^uke. 
Sally  was  a' most  a  beautiful  skater.  She 
could  go  the  outside  edge,  cut  circles  one 
inside  the  other,  write  her  name,  and 
figures  of  the  year,  and  execute  all  sorts  of 
things  on  the  ice  with  her  skates ;  and 
Luke  proposed  to  run  her  that  wa}^  for  mar- 
riage, or  twenty  pounds  forfeit  if  he  didn't 
catch  her.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the 
old  woman  would  consent ;  but  at  last,  see- 
ing that  Sally  had  beat  him  so  easy  afoot, 
she  knowed,  in  course,  she  could  outskate 
him  on  the  ice  like  nothing  ;  and,  therefore, 
she  gave  in,  on  condition  that  Luke,  if  he 
was  beat,  should  clear  out  and  leave  the 
Cove,  and,  as  he  couldn't  get  no  better 
terms,  he  agreed  to  it,  and  the  day  was 
fixed  and  arrangements  made  for  the  race, 
and  the  folks  came  from  far  and  near  to  see 
it.  Some  backed  Sally  and  bet  on  her,  and 
some  backed  Luke  and  betted  on  him,  but 
most  people  wished  him  to  win  ;  and  there 
never  was,  perhaps,  a  horse-race,  or  foot- 
race, or  boat-race,  or  anything  excited  and 
interested  folks  like  this  '  Race  for  a  Wife.' 
' '  The  Cove  was  all  froze  over  with  beau- 
tiful glassy  ice,  and  the  da}^  was  fine  and 
the  company  assembled,  and  out  came  the 
two  racers.    Sally  was  dressed  in  long  cloth 


By  American  Authors.  6i 

dress,  only  covered  by  her  skirt  as  far  as 
the  knees,  so  as  to  admit  of  a  free  use  of 
her  limbs,  and  a  close-fitting  body  with 
narrow  sleeves,  and  wore  a  black  fur  cap 
on  her  head.  Luke  had  on  a  pair  of  sea- 
men's trousers,  belted  tight  round  the  waist, 
and  a  loose,  striped  Guernsey  shirt,  open  at 
the  neck,  and  a  knowing  little  seal-skin 
cap,  worn  jauntingly  a  one  side.  It  ain't 
often  you  see  such  a  handsome  couple,  I 
can  tell  you.  Before  Sally  left  the  house, 
her  mother  called  her  a  one  side,  and  said — 

'*  '  Sally,  dear,  do  your  best,  now,  that's 
a  good  gal ;  if  you  get  beat,  people  will  say 
you  let  him  do  it  a  purpose,  and  that  ain't 
womanly.  If  such  a  thing  was  to  be  that 
you  had  to  marry  him,  marry  him  conquer- 
ing and  not  beaten.  It's  a  good  thing  to 
teach  a  man  that  the  gray  mare  is  the  better 
horse.    Take  the  conceit  out  of  him,  dear  ! ' 

"'Never  fear,  mother,'  said  she;  'I'll 
lead  him  a  dance  that  goes  so  fast  he  won't 
know  the  tune  he  is  keeping  step  to,  I 
know.' 

**  Well,  they  walked  hand  in  hand  down 
to  the  Cove,  and  the  folks  cheered  them 
again  and  again  when  they  arrived  on  the 
ice.  After  fitting  on  their  skates,  they 
slowly  skimmed  about  the  Cove,  showing 
off,  cutting  all  sorts  of  feats,  shines,  evolu- 
tions, and  didoes,  and  what  not ;  when  they 
come  together  again,  tightened  their  straps, 
shook  hands,  and  took  their  places,  twenty 


62  Capital  Stories 

yards  apart,  and,  at  the  sound  of  a  conch- 
shell,  off  they  started,  like  two  streaks  of 
lightning.  Perhaps  it  was  the  most  splen- 
did thing  ever  seen  in  this  country.  Sally 
plaj'ed  him  off  beautifully,  and  would  let 
him  all  but  catch  her,  then  stop  short, 
double  on  him,  and  leave  him  ever  so  far 
behind.  Once  she  ran  right  round  him,  so 
near  as  to  be  able  to  lay  her  little  balance- 
stick  across  his  shoulders,  whack  with  all 
her  might.  Oh,  what  a  laugh  it  raised,  and 
what  shouts  of  applause,  every  cutting  off 
or  heading  of  his  received,  or  sudden  pull 
up,  sharp  turn,  or  knowing  dodge  of  hern, 
was  welcomed  with  !     It  was  great  sport," 

"Sport,  indeed!''  said  Miss  Lucy.  **I 
never  heard  anything  so  degrading ;  I 
couldn't  have  believed  it  possible  that  a 
woman  would  make  a  show  of  herself  that 
way  before  men,  and  in  such  an  unusual 
way,  too  !  " 

''■  The  Cove  fairly  rung  with  merriment. 
At  last  the  hour  for  the  race  was  drawing 
near  its  close  (for  it  was  agreed  it  should 
only  last  an  hour),  and  she  began  to  lead 
him  off  as  far  as  possible,  so  as  to  double 
on  him,  and  make  a  dash  for  the  shore,  and 
was  saving  her  breath  and  strength  for  the 
last  rush,  when,  unfortunately,  she  got  un- 
awares into  what  they  call  blistered  ice 
(that  is,  a  kind  of  rough  and  uneven  freez- 
ing of  the  surface),  tripped,  and  fell  at  full 
length  on  her  face  ;  and,  as  Luke  was  in  full 


By  A7nerican  Authors.  63 

pursuit,  he  couldn't  stop  himself  in  time, 
and  fell  also  right  over  her. 

' '  '  She  is  mine  ! '  said  he ;  *  I  have  her  ! 
Hurrah,  I  have  won  ! '  " 

'  *  Oh,  yes  ! ' '  said  Lucy,  "it's  very  easy  to 
win  when  it's  all  arranged  beforehand.  Do 
you  pretend  to  tell  me,  after  the  race  in  the 
field,  that  that  wasn't  done  on  purpose?  I 
don't  think  I  ever  heard  tell  of  a  more  false, 
bold,  artful  woman  !  " 

"Oh,"  continued  Mr.  Stephen,  "what  a 
cheer  of  praise  and  triumph  that  caused  ! 
It  rang  over  the  ice,  and  was  echoed  back 
by  the  woods,  and  was  so  loud  and  clear 
you  might  have  heard  it  clean  away  out  to 
sea,  as  far  as  the  light-house  a' most  ! " 

"And  this  is  your  dismal  story,  is  it?'* 
said  the  young  hostess,  with  an  air  of  dis- 
appointment. 

"Such  a  waving  of  hats  and  throwing  up 
of  fur  caps,  was  never  seen  ;  and  wheu 
people  had  done  cheering,  and  got  their 
heads  straight  again,  and  looked  for  the 
lacers,  they  was  gone " 

"Gone!"  said  Lucy.     "Where?" 

"  To  heaven,  I  hope  !  "  said  Stephen. 

"Why,  you  dont  mean  to  say  they  were 
lost,  do  you  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"Drowned?" 

"Yes,  drowned." 

"What,  both  of  them?" 

"Yes,  both  of  them." 

"What,  did  they  go  through  the  ice  ?  " 


64  Capital  Stories 

* '  Yes,  through  the  ice.  It  was  an  air- 
hole where  they  ftU  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my,  how  awful  !  " 

"I  told  you  so,  miss,"  said  Stephen, 
"but  you  wouldn't  believe  me.  It  was 
awful,  that's  a  fact !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  ejaculated  Lucy.  "Only 
think  of  poor  Luke  ;  he  was  a  misfortunate 
man,  sartainly  !     Were  they  ever  found?  " 

"Yes,  when  the  ice  broke  up,  the  next 
•eastwardly  gale,  they  floated  ashore,  tightly 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  and  were 
buried  in  one  grave  and  in  one  coffin.  It 
was  the  largest  funeral  ever  seen  in  them 
parts  ;  all  the  fishermen  from  far  and  near 
attended,  with  their  wives  and  darters, 
marching  two  and  two  ;  the  men  all  dressed 
in  their  blue  trousers  and  check  shirts,  and 
the  women  in  their  gray  homespun  and 
white  aprons.  There  was  hardly  a  dry  eye 
among  the  whole  of  them.  It  was  a  most 
affectmg  scene. 

"  When  the  service  was  over,  the  people 
subscribed  a  handsome  sum  on  the  spot, 
and  had  a  monument  put  up  there.  It  stands 
on  the  right  hand  of  the  gate  as  you  go  into 
the  churchyard  at  Snug  Harbor.  The 
school-master  cut  their  names  and  ages  on 
the  stone,  and  also  this  beautiful  inscription, 
or  epitaph,  or  whatever  it  is  called — 

"  *  This  loving  pair  went  out  to  skate, 

Broke  through  the  ice  and  met  their  fate. 
And  now  lie  buried  near  this  gate  ; 
Year,  eighteen  hundred  twenty-eight.'  '* 


By  American  Authors.  65 

**  Dear  me,  how  very  awful  !  "  said  Miss 
Lticy.  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  sleep  to-night 
for  thinking  of  them  ;  and,  if  I  do,  I  know 
I  shall  dream  of  them.  Still,  it's  a  pretty 
story,  after  all.  It's  out  of  the  common 
way,  like.  What  a  strange  history  Luke's 
is  !  First,  losing  his  wife  by  the  fishery- 
law,  then  a  race  on  foot  for  the  tea  or  a  for- 
feit, and  at  last,  skating  for  a  wedding  or  a 
grave!  It's  quite  a  romance  in  real  life, 
isn't  it?  But,  dear  me,  it's  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  as  I'm  alive!  Mr.  Barclay,  if 
you  will  see  to  the  fire,  please,  before  you 
go  to  bed,  that  it's  all  made  safe  (for  we  are 
great  cowards  about  fire  here),  I  believe  I 
will  bid  you  all  good-night." 

'*  It  ain't  quite  finished  yet,"  said  Stephen. 
"There  was  another  young  lady." 

"Who?"  said  Miss  Lucy. 

"A  far  handsomer  and  far  more  sensible 
gal  than  Sally,  one  of  the  best  broughten 
up  in  the  whole  country,  and  one  that  would 
be  a  fortin  to  a  man  that  was  lucky  enough 
to  get  her  for  a  wife." 

*'  Who  was  she,  and  where  did  she  live?  " 
inquired  Lucy,  who  put  down  her  candle, 
and  awaited  the  reply. 

**To  home  with  her  own  folks,"  said 
Stephen;  "and  an  excellent,  and  comfort- 
able, and  happy  home  she  made  it,  too.  It's 
a  pity  Luke's  wife  hadn't  seen  her  to  take 
pattern  by  her  ;  though  Luke's  wife  warn't 
fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  her.     They  hadn't 


66  Capital  Stories 

ought  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  day. 
Nobody  that  ever  see  her  that  didn't  love 
her — old  or  young,  gentle  or  simple,  mar- 
ried or  single." 

"She  was  no  great  shakes,  then,"  said 
the  young  hostess.  "She  must  have  been 
a  great  flirt,  if  that  was  the  case." 

"Well,  she  warn't  then;  she  was  as 
modest,  and  honest,  and  well-conducted  a 
gal  as  3'ou  ever  laid  your  eyes  on.  I  only 
wish  my  son,  who  is  to  man's  estate  now, 
had  her,  for  I  should  be  proud  of  her  as  a 
darter-in-law  ;  and  would  give  them  a  farm, 
and  stock  it  with  a  complete  fit-out  of 
everything." 

"If  he's  like  his  father,"  said  Lucy, 
"may  be  he'd  be  a  hard  bargain  for  all 
that.  Who  is  your  sampler  that  set  off 
with  such  colors,  and  w^ants  the  word 
'  Richardson  '  worked  on  it  ?  " 

"  But  then  she  has  one  fault,"  continued 
Stephen. 

"What's  that?  Perhaps  she's  ill-tem- 
pered, for  many  beauties  are  so." 

"No,  as  sweet-tempered  a  gal  as  ever 
you  see.     Guess  agin." 

"Won't  take  your  son,  may  be  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  never  seed  him,  I  don't  think  ; 
for,  if  she  did,  it's  my  notion  her  heart 
would  beat  like  a  town-clock ;  so  loud 
you  could  hear  it  ever  so  far.  Guess 
agin." 

"  Oh  !     I  can't  guess  if  I  w^as  to  tr>^  till 


By  American  Authors.  67 

to-morrow,  for  I  never  was  a  good  hand  at 
finding  out  riddles.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"She  is  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle,  too  con- 
saited,  and  is  as  m(\ms\tive  as  old  Marm 
Eve  herself.  She  says  she  has  rules  that 
can't  never  be  bended  nor  broken,  on  no 
account ;  but  yet  her  curiositj^  is  so  great, 
she  will  break  the  best  regulation  she  has  ; 
and  that  is,  not  to  sit  up  after  twelve  o'clock 
at  night  more  than  once  the  same  evening 
to  hear  a  good  story." 

"  Ah,  now,  Mr.  Stephen,"  said  the  young 
lady,  "that's  a  great  shame!  Only  to 
think  I  should  be  such  a  goose  as  to  be 
took  in  so,  and  to  stand  here  and  listen  to 
all  that  nonsense  !  And  then  being  made 
such  a  goose  of  to  my  face,  is  all  the  thanks 
I  get  for  my  pains  of  trying  to  please  the 
like  of  you  !  Well,  I  never  !  I'll  be  even  with 
you  yet  for  that,  see  if  I  don't !  Goodnight." 

' '  One  word  more,  please,  miss.  Keep 
to  your  rules,  they  are  all  capital  ones,  and 
I  was  only  joking  ;  but  I  must  add  this 
little  short  one  to  them.  Circumstances 
alters  cases.  Good-night,  dear,"  and  he 
got  up  and  opened  the  door  for  her,  and 
whispered  in  her  ear,  "I  am  in  earnest 
about  my  son  :  I  am,  upon  my  soul  !  I'll 
send  him  to  see  you.  Don't  be  scorney, 
now,  that's  a  darling  !  " 

"  Do  get  away,"  she  replied,  "and  don't 
tease  me  !  Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  all  good- 
night !  " 


68  Capital  Stories 

CLARENCE'S   COURTSHIP. 

BY   IK   MARVEL. 

You  are  at  home  again  ; — not  your  own 
home,  that  is  gone  ;  but  at  the  home  of 
Nelly  and  of  Frank.  The  city  heats  of 
summer  drive  you  to  the  countr}-.  You 
ramble,  with  a  little  kindling  of  old  desires 
and  memories,  over  the  hillsides  that  once 
bounded  your  boyish  vision.  Here,  you 
netted  the  wild  rabbits,  as  they  came  out  at 
dusk,  to  feed  ;  there,  upon  that  tall  chestnut 
you  cruelly  maimed  your  first  captive 
squirrel.  The  old  maples  are  even  now- 
scarred  with  the  rude  cuts  you  gave  them, 
in  sappy  March. 

You  sit  down  upon  some  height,  over- 
looking the  valley  where  you  were  born  ; 
you  trace  the  faint,  silvery  line  of  river  ;  you 
detect  b}'  the  leaning  elm,  your  old  bathing 
place  upon  the  Saturdays  of  Summer.  Your 
eye  dwells  upon  some  patches  of  pasture 
wood,  which  were  famous  for  their  nuts. 
Your  rambling  and  saddened  vision  roams 
over  the  houses  ;  it  traces  the  familiar  chim- 
ney stacks  ;  it  searches  out  the  low-lying 
cottages  ;  it  dwells  upon  the  gray  roof,  sleep- 
ing yonder  under  the  sycamores. 

Tears  swell  in  your  eye  as  you  gaze  ;  you 
cannot  tell  whence  or  why  they  come.  Yet 
they  are  tears  eloquent  of  feeling.  They 
speak  of  brother  children — of  boyish  glee, — 


By  American  Authors.  69 

of  the  flush  of  young  health, — of  a  mother's 
devotion, — of  the  home  affections, — of  the 
vanities  of  life, — of  the  wasting  years,  of 
the  Death  that  must  shroud  what  friends 
remain,  as  it  has  shrouded  what  friends  have 
gone, — and  of  that  Great  Hope,  beaming 
on  your  seared  manhood  dimly,  from  the 
upper  world. 

Your  wealth  suffices  for  all  the  luxuries 
of  life  :  there  is  no  fear  of  coming  want ; 
health  beats  strong  in  your  veins  ;  you  have 
learned  to  hold  a  place  in  the  world,  with  a 
man's  strength  and  a  man's  confidence. 
And  yet  in  the  view  of  those  sweet  scenes 
which  belonged  to  early  days,  when  neither 
strength,  confidence,  nor  wealth  was  yours, 
days  never  to  come  again, — a  shade  of  mel- 
ancholy broods  upon  your  spirit,  and  covers 
with  its  veil  all  that  fierce  pride  which  your 
worldly  wisdom  has  wrought. 

You  visit  again,  with  Frank,  the  country 
homestead  of  his  grandfather  ;  he  is  dead  ; 
but  the  old  lady  still  lives  ;  and  blind  Fanny, 
now  drawing  toward  womanhood,  wears 
yet  through  her  darkened  life  the  same  air 
of  placid  content  and  of  sweet  trustfulness 
in  Heaven.  The  boys  whom  you  astounded 
with  your  stories  of  books  are  gone,  build- 
ing up  now  with  steady  industry  the  queen 
cities  of  our  new  Western  land.  The  old 
clergyman  is  gone  from  the  desk  and  from 
under  his  sounding-board  ;  he  sleeps  beneath 
a  brown  stone  slab  in  the  churchyard.     The 


70  Capital  Stories 

stout  deacon  is  dead  ;  his  wig  and  his  wick- 
edness rest  together.  The  tall  chorister 
sings  3'et :  but  they  have  now  a  bass-viol — 
handled  by  a  new  schoolmaster,  in  place  of 
his  tuning-fork  ;  and  the  j-ears  have  sown 
feeble  quavers  in  his  voice. 

Once  more  you  meet  at  the  home  of  Nelly, 
— the  blue-eyed  Madge.  The  sixpence  is 
all  forgotten  ;  you  cannot  tell  where  your 
half  of  it  is  gone.  Yet  she  is  beautiful  — 
just  budding  into  the  full  ripeness  of  woman- 
hood. Her  eyes  have  a  quiet,  still  joy,  and 
hope  beaming  in  them,  like  angel's  looks. 
Her  motions  have  a  native  grace  and  free- 
dom that  no  culture  can  bestow.  Her  words 
have  a  gentle*  earnestness  and  honesty  that 
could  never  nurture  guile. 

You  had  thought,  after  your  gay  experi- 
ences of  the  world,  to  meet  her  with  a  kind 
condescension,  as  an  old  friend  of  Nelly's. 
But  there  is  that  in  her  eye  which  forbids 
all  thought  of  condescension.  There  is  that 
in  her  air  which  tells  of  a  high  womanly 
dignity,  which  can  only  be  met  on  equal 
ground.  Your  pride  is  piqued.  She  has 
known — she  must  know  your  history  ;  but 
it  does  not  tame  her.  There  is  no  marked 
and  submissive  appreciation  of  your  gifts, 
as  a  man  of  the  world. 

She  meets  your  happiest  compliments 
with  a  very  easy  indifference;  she  receives 
your  elegant  civilities  with  a  very  assured 
brow.     She  neither  courts  your  society  nor 


By  American  Authors.  71 

avoids  it.  She  does  not  seek  to  provoke  any 
special  attention.  And  only  when  your  old 
self  glows  in  some  casual  kindness  to  Nelly, 
does  her  look  beam  with  a  flush  of  sym- 
pathy. 

This  look  touches  you.  It  makes  you 
ponder  on  the  noble  heart  that  lives  in 
Madge.  It  makes  you  wish  it  were  yours. 
But  that  is  gone.  The  fervor  and  the  hon- 
esty of  a  glowing  youth  is  swallowed  up  in 
the  flash  and  splendor  of  the  world.  A 
half-regret  chases  over  you  at  nightfall, 
when  solitude  pierces  you  with  the  swift  dart 
of  gone-by  memories.  But  at  morning, the  re- 
gret dies  in  the  glitter  of  ambitious  purposes. 

The  summer  months  linger  ;  and  still  you 
linger  with  them.  Madge  is  often  with 
Nelly  ;  and  Madge  is  never  less  than  Madge. 
You  venture  to  point  your  attentions  with  a 
little  more  fervor  ;  but  she  meets  the  fervor 
with  no  glow.  She  knows  too  well  the  habit 
of  your  life. 

Strange  feelings  come  over  you ;  feelings 
like  half- forgotten  memories — musical — 
dreamy — doubtful.  You  have  seen  a  hun- 
dred faces  more  brilliant  than  that  of  Madge; 
you  have  pressed  a  hundred  jeweled  hands 
that  have  returned  a  half-pressure  to  yours. 
You  do  not  exactly  admire  ; — to  love,  you 
have  forgotten  ; — you  only — linger  ! 

It  is  a  soft  autumn  evening,  and  the  har- 
vest moon  is  red  and  round  over  the  eastern 


72  Capital  Stoj'ies 

skirt  of  woods.  You  are  attending  Madge 
to  that  little  cottage  home,  where  lives  that 
gentle  and  doting  mother,  who  in  the  midst 
of  comparative  poverty,  cherishes  that  re- 
fined delicacy  which  never  comes  to  a  child 
but  by  inheritance. 

Madge  has  been  passing  the  day  with 
Nelly.  Something — it  may  be  the  soft 
autumn  air  wafting  toward  you  the  fresh- 
ness of  young  days — moves  you  to  speak, 
as  you  have  not  ventured  to  speak, — as 
your  vanity  has  not  allowed  you  to  speak 
before. 

"  You  remember,  Madge  (you  have 
guarded  this  sole  token  of  boyish  intimacy), 
our  split  sixpence?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  "  It  is  a  short  word  to  speak, 
and  there  is  no  tremor  in  her  tone — not  the 
slightest, 

"You  have  it  j'et?  " 

"  I  dare  say,  I  have  it  somewhere  :  "  no 
tremor  now  :  she  is  very  composed. 

"That  was  a  happy  time:"  very  great 
emphasis  on  the  word  happy. 

"Very  happy  :  " — no  emphasis  anywhere. 

"  I  sometimes  wish  I  might  live  it  over 
again." 

"  Yes  ?  " — inquiringly. 

"There  are  after  all  no  pleasures  in  the 
world  like  those." 

"  No?  " — inquiringly^  again. 

You  thought  3-0U  had  learned  to  have 
language  at  command  :  you  never  thought, 


1 


By  American  Authors.  yjv 

after  so  many  years  schooling  of  the  world, 
that  your  pliant  tongue  would  play  you 
truant.     Yet  now, — you  are  silent. 

The  moon   steals   silvery   into  the  light: 
flakes  of  cloud,  and  the  air  is  soft  as  May. 
The  cottage  is  in  sight.     Again  you  risk, 
utterance  : 

"  You  must  live  very  happily  here." 

*'I  have  very  kind  friends:" — the 
"very  "  is  emphasized. 

"  I  am  sure  Nelly  loves  you  very  much." 

"  Oh,  I  believe  it  !  " — with  great  earnest' 
ness. 

You  are  at  the  cottage  door  : — 

"  Good-night,  Maggie," — very  feelingly. 

"Good-night,  Clarence," — very  kindly; 
and  she  draws  her  hand  coyly,  and  half 
tremulously,  from  your  somewhat  fevered 
grasp. 

You  stroll  away  dreamily, — watching  the 
moon, — running  over  your  fragmentary^ 
life; — half  moody,  —  half  pleased, — half 
hopeful. 

You  come  back  stealthily  and  with  a 
heart  throbbing  with  a  certain  wild  sense  of 
shame  to  watch  the  light  gleaming  in  the 
cottage.  You  linger  in  the  shadows  of  the 
trees,  until  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  figure 
gliding  past  the  window.  You  bear  the 
image  home  with  you.  You  are  silent  on 
your  return.  You  retire  early  ; — but  you  da 
not  sleep  early. 

— If  you  were  only  as  you  were  : — if  it 


74  Capital  Stories 

were  not  too  late  I  If  Madge  could  only  love 
you,  as  you  know  she  will  and  must  love 
one  manly  heart,  there  would  be  a  world  of 
joy  opening  before  5'ou. 

You  draw  out  Nelly  to  speak  of  Madge  : 
Nelly  is  very  prudent.  '  *  Madge  is  a  dear 
girl," — she  saj'S.  Does  Nelly  even  distrust 
3'ou  ?  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  too  much  a  man 
of  the  world. 

You  go  back  again  to  noisy,  ambitious 
life  :  you  try  to  drown  old  memories  in  its 
blaze  and  its  vanities.  Your  lot  seems  cast 
beyond  all  change  ;  and  3^ou  task  3^ourself 
with  its  noisy  fulfillment.  But  amid  the 
silence,  and  the  toil  of  3^our  office  hours,  a 
strange  desire  broods  over  3-our  spirit ; — a 
desire  for  m.ore  of  manliness — that  manliness 
which  feels  itself  a  protector  of  loving  and 
trustful  innocence. 

You  look  around  upon  the  faces  in  which 
you  have  smiled  unmeaning  smiles  ; — there 
is  nothing  there  to  feed  j-our  dawning  de- 
sires. You  meet  w4th  those  ready  to  court 
3'ou  by  flattering  3'our  vanit3' — b3''  retailing 
the  praises  of  w^hat  3^ou  may  do  well, — by 
odious  familiarit3^ — b3^  brazen  proffer  of 
friendship  ;  but  3'ou  see  in  it  onl3^  the  empti- 
ness, and  the  vanit3',  which  you  have  studied 
to  enjoy. 

Sickness  comes  over  3'ou,  and  binds  3^ou 
for  wear3^  days  and  nights  ; — in  w^hich  life 
hovers  doubtfull3%  and  the  lips  babble  se- 
crets that    vou  cherish.     It  is  astonishing 


By  American  Authors.  75 

how  disease  clips  a  man  from  the  artificiali- 
ties of  the  world.  Lying  lonely  upon  his  bed, 
moaning,  writhing,  suffering,  his  soul  joins 
on  to  the  universe  of  souls  by  only  natural 
bonds.  The  factitious  ties  of  wealth,  of 
place,  of  reputation,  vanish  from  his  bleared 
eyes  ;  and  the  earnest  heart,  deep  under  all, 
craves  only — heartiness. 

The  old  yearning  of  the  office  silence  comes 
back  ; — not  with  the  proud  wish  only — of 
being  a  protector,  but — of  being  protected. 
And  whatever  may  be  the  trust  in  that 
beneficent  Power,  who  ''chasteneth  whom 
He  loveth, ' ' — there  is  yet  an  earnest,  human 
leaning  toward  some  one,  whose  love — most, 
and  whose  duty — least,  would  call  her  to 
your  side  ; — whose  soft  hands  would  cool 
the  fever  of  yours — whose  step  would  wake 
a  throb  of  jo}^ — whose  voice  would  tie  you 
to  life,  and  whose  presence  would  make  the 
worst  of  Death — an  Adieu  ! 

As  you  gain  strength  once  more,  you  go 
back  to  Nelly's  home.  Her  kindness  does 
not  falter  ;  every  care  and  attention  belong 
to  you  there.  Again  your  eye  rests  upon 
that  figure  of  Madge,  and  upon  her  face, 
wearing  an  even  gentler  expression,  as  she 
sees  you  sitting  pale  and  feeble  by  the  old 
hearth-stone.  She  brings  flowers — for  Nelly  : 
you  beg  Nelly  to  place  them  upon  the  little 
table  at  your  side.  It  is  as  yet  the  only  taste 
of  the  country  that  you  can  enjoy.  You 
love  those  flowers. 


76  Capital  Stories 

After  a  time  you  grow  strong,  and  walk 
in  the  fields.  You  linger  until  nightfall. 
You  pass  by  the  cottage  where  Madge  lives. 
It  is  your  pleasantest  walk.  The  trees  are 
greenest  in  that  direction  ;  the  shadows  are 
softest ;  the  flowers  are  thickest. 

It  is  strange — this  feeling  in  you.  It  is 
not  the  feeling  3^ou  had  for  Laura  Dalton. 
It  does  not  even  remind  of  that.  That  was 
an  impulse  ;  but  this  is  growth.  That  was 
strong  ;  but  this  is — strength.  You  catch 
sight  of  her  little  notes  to  Nell}'  ;  5'ou  read 
them  over  and  over ;  you  treasure  them  ; 
you  learn  them  by  heart.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  very  writing  that  touches 
you. 

You  bid  her  adieu  with  tones  of  kindness 
that  tremble  ; — and  that  meet  a  half-trem- 
bling tone  in  reph' .     She  is  very  good. 

If  it  were  riot  too  late  ! 

And  shall  pride  3'ield  at  length  ? 

Pride  ! and  what  has  love  to  do 

with  pride  ?     Let  us  see  how  it  is. 

Madge  is  poor  ;  she  is  humble.  You  are 
rich  ;  you  are  a  man  of  the  world  ;  you  are 
met  respectfully  by  the  veterans  of  fashion  ; 
you  have  gained  perhaps  a  kind  of  brilliancy 
of  position. 

Would  it  then  be  a  condescension  to  love 
Madge?  Dare  you  ask  yourself  such  a 
question  ?  Do  jom  not  know — in  spite  of 
vour    worldliness — that    the    man    or   the 


By  American  Authors.  77 

woman  who  condescends  to  love,  never  loves 
in  earnest? 

But  again,  Madge  is  possessed  of  a  purity, 
a  delicacy,  and  a  dignity  that  lift  her  far 
above  you,  that  make  you  feel  your  weakness 
and  your  unworthiness  ;  and  it  is  the  deep 
and  the  mortifying  sense  of  this  unworthi- 
ness that  makes  you  bolster  yourself  upon 
your  pride.  You  know  that  you  do  yourself 
honor  in  loving  such  grace  and  goodness  ; — 
you  know  that  you  would  be  honored  ten- 
fold more  than  you  deserve,  in  being  loved — 
by  so  much  grace  and  goodness. 

It  scarce  seems  to  you  possible  ;  it  is  a  joy 
too  great  to  be  hoped  for  ;  and  in  the  doubt 
of  its  attainment,  your  old  worldl}^  vanity 
comes  in,  and  tells  3^ou — to  beware  ;  and  to 
live  on,  in  the  splendor  of  your  dissipation, 
and  in  the  lusts  of  your  selfish  habit.  Yet 
still,  underneath  all,  there  is  a  deep,  low 
heart-voice, — quickened  from  above, — which 
assures  you  that  you  are  capable  of  better 
things  ; — that  j^ou  are  not  wholly  lost ;  that 
a  mine  of  unstarted  tenderness  still  lies 
smoldering  in  your  soul. 

And  with  this  sense  quickening  your 
better  nature,  you  venture  the  wealth  of  your 
whole  heart-life  upon  the  hope  that  now 
blazes  on  your  path. 

You  are  seated  at  your  desk,  working 

with  such  zeal  of  labor  as  your  ambitious 
projects  never  could  command.  It  is  a  letter 
to  Margaret  Boyne  that  so  tasks  your  love, 


78  Capital  Stories 

and  makes  the  veins  upon  your  forehead 
swell  with  the  earnestness  of  the  employ. 

'  Dear  Madge — May  I  not  call  you 


thus,  if  only  in  memory  of  our  childish  af- 
fections ; — and  might  I  dare  to  hope  that  a 
riper  affection  which  your  character  has 
awakened  may  permit  me  to  call  3^ou  thus 
always  ? 

"  If  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak,  dear 
Madge,  will  you  not  believe  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  my  own  ill-desert  has  tied  my 
tongue  ; — will  you  not,  at  least,  give  me 
credit  for  a  little  remaining  modest)^  of 
heart?  You  know  my  life,  and  you  know 
my  character — what  a  sad  jumble  of  errors 
and  of  misfortunes  have  belonged  to  each. 
You  know  the  careless  and  the  vain  purposes 
which  have  made  me  recreant  to  the  better 
nature  which  belonged  to  that  sunny  child- 
hood, when  we  lived  and  grew  up — together. 
And  will  you  not  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  your  grace  of  character,  and  kindness 
of  heart,  have  drawn  me  back  from  the 
follies  in  which  I  lived,  and  quickened  new 
desires,  which  I  thought  to  be  wholly  dead  ? 
Can  1  indeed  hope  that  you  will  overlook  all 
that  has  gained  your  secret  reproaches,  and 
confide  in  a  heart  which  is  made  conscious 
of  better  things  by  the  love — you  have  in- 
spired ? 

"  Ah,  Madge,  it  is  not  with  a  vain  show 
of  words,  or  with  any  counterfeit  of  feeling, 


By  American  Authors.  79 

that  I  write  now  ; — you  know  it  is  not ; — 
you  know  that  my  heart  is  leaning  toward 
you  with  the  freshness  of  its  noblest  in- 
stincts ; — you  know  that — I  love  you  ! 

"  Can  I,  dare  I  hope  that  it  is  not  spoken 
in  vain  ?  I  had  thought  in  my  pride  never 
to  make  such  avowal, — never  again  to  sue 
for  affection ;  but  your  gentleness,  your 
modesty,  your  virtues  of  life  and  heart,  have 
conquered  me.  I  am  sure  you  will  treat  me 
with  the  generosity  of  a  victor. 

' '  You  know  my  weaknesses  ; — I  would 
not  conceal  from  you  a  single  one, — even  to 
win  you.  I  can  offer  nothing  to  you  which 
will  bear  comparison  in  value  with  what  is 
yours  to  bestow.  I  can  only  offer  this  feeble 
hand  of  mine — to  guard  you  ;  and  this  poor 
heart — to  love  you  ! 

' '  Am  I  rash  ?  Am  I  extravagant  in 
word,  or  in  hope?  Forgive  it,  then,  dear 
Madge,  for  the  sake  of  our  old  childish 
affection  ;  and  believe  me  when  I  say  that 
what  is  here  written, — is  written  honestly 
and  tearfully. 

"Adieu." 

It  is  with  no  fervor  of  boyish  passion  that 
you  fold  this  letter  ;  it  is  with  the  trembling 
hand  of  eager  and  earnest  manhood.  They 
tell  you  that  man  is  not  capable  of  love  ; — so 
the  September  sun  is  not  capable  of  warmth. 
It  may  not  indeed  be  so  fierce  as  that  of 
July  ;  but  it  is  steadier.     It  does  not  force 


So  Capital  Stories 

great  flaunting  leaves  into  breadth  and  suc- 
culence ;  but  it  matures  whole  harvests  of 
plenty. 

There  is  a  deep  and  earnest  soul  pervading 
the  reply  of  Madge  that  makes  it  sacred  ;  it 
is  full  of  delicacy  and  full  of  hope.  Yet  it  is 
not  final.  Her  heart  lies  intrenched  within 
the  ramparts  of  Duty  and  of  Devotion.  It 
is  a  citadel  of  strength,  in  the  middle  of  the 
city  of  her  affections.  To  win  the  way  to 
it,  there  must  be  not  only  earnestness  of 
love,  but  earnestness  of  life. 

Weeks  roll  by  ;  and  other  letters  pass  and 
are  answered, — a  glow  of  warmth  beaming 
on  either  side. 

You  are  again  at  the  home  of  Nell}^  ;  she 
is  very  joyous ;  she  is  the  confidant  of 
Madge.  Nelly  feels  that,  with  all  your 
errors,  you  have  enough  inner  goodness  of 
heart  to  make  Madge  happy  ;  and  she  feels 
doubly — that  Madge  has  such  excess  of 
goodness  as  will  cover  your  heart  with  joy. 
Yet  she  tells  you  very  little.  She  will  give 
you  no  full  assurance  of  the  love  of  Madge  ; 
she  leaves  that  for  yourself  to  win. 

She  will  even  tease  you  in  her  pleasant 
way  until  hope  almost  changes  to  despair  ; 
and  your  brow  grows  pale  with  the  dread — 
that  even  now  3-our  unworthiness  may  con- 
demn you. 

It  is  summer  weather  ;  and  you  have  been 
walking  over  the  hills  of  home  with  Madge 
and  Nellv.     Nellv  has  found  some  excuse  to 


By  Amej'ica??.  Authors.  8i 

leave  you, — glancing  at  you  most  teasingly 
as  she  hurries  away. 

You  are  left  sitting  with  Madge,  upon  a 
bank  tufted  with  blue  violets.  You  have 
been  talking  of  the  da3^s  of  childhood,  and 
some  word  has  called  up  to  the  old  chain  of 
bo^nsh  feeling,  and  joined  it  to  your  new 
hope. 

What  you  would  say  crowds  too  fast  for 
utterance  ;  and  you  abandon  it.  But  you 
take  from  your  pocket  that  little  broken  bit 
of  sixpence, — which  you  have  found  after 
long  search, — and  without  a  word,  but 
with  a  look  that  tells  your  inmost  thought, 
you  lay  it  in  the  half  opened  hand  of 
Madge. 

She  looks  at  you  with  a  slight  suffusion 
of  color, — seems  to  hesitate  a  moment, — 
raises  her  other  hand  and  draws  from  her 
bosom,  by  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  a  little 
locket.  She  touches  a  spring,  and  there 
falls  beside  your  relique, — another,  that  had 
once  belonged  to  it. 

Hope  glows  now  like  the  sun. 

* '  And  have  you  worn  this,  Maggie  ? ' ' 

"  Always  !  " 

"Dear  Madge  !  " 

"Dear  Clarence  !" 

And  you  pass  your  arm  now,  un- 
checked, around  that  yielding,  graceful 
figure  ;  and  fold  her  to  your  bosom,  with 
the  swift  and  blessed  assurance  that  your 
fullest  and  noblest  dream  of  love  is  won. 


82  Capital  Stories 

MISFORTUNE'S  FAVORITE. 

BY    CARLOTTA   PERRY. 
I. 

Kven^body  said  that  Dick  Andrews  was 
born  to  ill  luck  ;  and  what  evers^body  sa\'S 
comes  in  time  to  be  believed.  He  almost 
believed  it  himself;  he  knew  that,  as  he  put 
it,  "  the  wnnd  always  blew  in  his  face. "  In 
his  boyhood,  if  any  one  of  the  children  of 
the  family  was  late  at  school,  it  was  sure  to 
be  Dick  ;  if  any  skates  got  broken  or  any 
sled  lost  a  runner,  there  was  no  need  to  ask 
to  which  of  the  boys  the  property  belonged. 
If  either  of  the  boys  went  without  mittens 
or  an  overcoat,  it  was  Dick,  of  course.  If 
any  one  stayed  at  home  from  church  or 
merry-making  to  tend  to  the  fires  or  keep 
the  mother  company,  Dick  was  the  one. 

No  one  could  tell  exactly  why.  To  be 
sure,  his  brothers  and  sisters  appropriated 
his  property  without  scruple,  which  was  one 
reason  of  its  often  being  out  of  repair  ;  be- 
sides, if  any  one  wanted  to  borrow  sled  or 
skates,  it  was  supposed  that  it  was  less  of  a 
denial  for  him  than  for  Tom,  his  brother,  to 
go  without  them  ;  and  it  grew  to  be  an 
accepted  belief  that  he  didn't  care  very 
much  for  merry-making  anyway,  and  then, 
too.  one  couldn't  go  without  suitable  clothes, 
and  after  getting  Tom  all  he  needed,  and 


By  A7?ie7'icaii  Authors.  83 

providing  suitable  garments  for  Sue  and 
Mary,  there  wasn't  so  very  much  left.  Not 
that  he  was  an  abused  or  neglected  child. 
His  mother  loved  him  tenderly,  and  to  his 
sisters  and  one  brother  there  was  nobody 
like  dear  old  Dick  ;  but  it  was  discovered 
that  he  had  one  talent — the  talent  for  self- 
denial,  and  it  was  allowed  full  opportunity 
for  development,  as  it  generally  is. 

Tom  wanted  to  go  out  into  the  world,  and 
he  went.  Dick  wanted  to  go,  but  there 
were  the  widowed  mother  and  the  two  sisters 
and  the  farm,  and  Dick  stayed.  So  he 
worked  faithfully  and  prospered  in  worldly 
things.  The  girls  .went  to  school ;  they 
came  home  and  filled  the  old  house  with 
their  wonderful  paintings,  their  fancy- 
work,  their  marvelous  music  and  still  more 
marvelous  French.  And  Dick,  plain,  sim- 
ple, unlearned  Dick,  stood  in  much  awe  of 
the  girls,  who  in  turn  patronized  him.  To 
be  sure,  there  were  books  in  Dick's  room  of 
whose  very  names  they  were  ignorant,  and 
curious  mechanical  devices  that  would  have 
bewildered  them,  but  that  was  only  Dick's 
oddity.  He  was  never  like  other  people 
anyway,  and  it  was  just  like  him  to  be 
spending  the  time,  when  he  ought  to  be 
sleeping,  in  poring  over  some  dull  scientific 
nonsense  or  constructing  some  foolish  una- 
vailable machine,  that  ought  to  work  but 
wouldn't.  So  they  talked,  and  life  moved 
on  for  all.     The  early  morning  found  him 


84  Capital  Stories 

at  his  duty,  the  evening  found  his  duty 
done.  He  had  grown  used  to  his  life,  he 
had  ceased  to  think  much  about  it,  further 
than  to  do  everything  he  could  for  every- 
body around  him. 

He  thought  his  sisters  the  most  beautiful 
and  accomplished  women  in  the  w^orld,  and 
all  women  were  in  his  e^^es  to  be  admired 
and  reverenced.  About  the  fittest  use  he 
deemed  that  his  life  could  be  put  to  was  to 
make  their  lives  fair  and  full  of  ease. 

When  Agatha  Dale  came  to  visit  his  sis- 
ters his  w^orld  widened.  He  had  seen  no 
woman  like  her ;  he  had  seen  ver}-  few 
women  anyway,  and  that  the  world  held 
any  such  as  she  he  had  not  imagined.  She 
talked  to  him  more  than  anj^one  else  had 
ever  done,  and  one  day,  w^hen  a  rain  had 
driven  him  in  from  the  field,  she  follow^ed 
him  out  on  the  porch  where  he  stood  watch- 
ing the  storm,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Andrews,  Sue  tells  me  that  you 
have  a  den  filled  not  with  wild  beasts,  but 
wath  wonderful  machines  and  inventions  of 
your  own  ;  and  though  she  speaks  of  them 
rather  lightly,  I  am  inclined  to  suspect  that 
you  are  a  genius — and  I  have  a  perfect  craze 
for  making  discoveries,  and  if  I  could  only 
discover  a  genius  hidden  away  on  this  great 
farm  of  yours  I  should  die  content." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  of  dying.  Miss  Dale,"  he 
replied,  while  a  great  flush  of  color  swept 
into  his  face  ;   "  don't  talk  of  dying." 


By  American  Authors.  85 

"  No,  I  don't  intend  to  ;  that  I  hope  is  to 
be  deferred  till  I  have  made  the  discovery  I 
spoke  of. ' ' 

"  There's  nothing  to  discover  that  I  know 
of,  nothing  at  least  that  you  would  care  to 
know. ' ' 

*  *  I  want  to  see  that  room  where  you  burn 
the  midnight  oil.  I  want  you  to  show  me 
what  you  are  trying  to  do,  though  I  cannot 
help  you,  only  as  interest  and  sympathy 
help  one,"  and  she  looked  up  into  his  honest 
eyes  with  a  look  that  set  his  honest  heart 
beating  wildly.  And  she  gained  what  she 
asked.  He  told  her  of  dreams  and  hopes 
that  had  stirred  the  brain  that  every  one 
else  thought  dull  and  sluggish.  He  ex- 
plained how  nearly  he  had  achieved  the 
perfect  working  of  an  invention  that  should 
be  of  priceless  value  in  a  certain  department 
of  labor.  Only  it  was  not  quite  perfect.  If 
this  wheel  were  a  little  larger  or  smaller, 
and  that  band  or  pulley  could  be  made  to 
work  a  little  different,  or  if  this  spring  were 
a  little  stronger  or  more  flexible,  it  would  be 
all  right.  And  it  would  be  after  a  little ; 
he  was  sure  he  had  the  right  idea.  And 
then  here  was  something  else  that  if  he 
had  time  he  could  develop,  but  he  had  not 
been  able  to  get  the  time,  and  so  there  it  was  ! 

"  But  I  guess  I'll  make  it  out  yet.  Miss 
Dale." 

**  Yes,  I  think  you  will,  Mr.  Andrews.  I 
think  you  will." 


86  Capital  Stories 

' '  Everybod}'  in  these  parts  calls  me  Dick, ' ' 
he  said  ;   **  maj^be  you  would." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  shall  not  call  you 
Dick  ;  that  is  no  name  to  call  such  a  man 
as  you  by.  I  will  call  you  Richard,  if  you 
are  willing.  You  are  my  host,  besides.  I 
see  what  these  around  you  do  not  see,  and 
what  I  think  3'ou  are  too  modest  to  believe, 
that  something  akin  to  the  wonderful  thing 
we  call  genius  is  yours. ' ' 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
know  as  all  this  means  anything,  but  I've 
kind  o'  thought  sometimes  that  if  I'd  had  a 
chance — but  you  see,  Miss  Dale,  Tom  he 
had  to  go,  and  the  girls  thej^  had  to  go  and 
be  educated,  and  there  was  the  farm  and 
mother,  and  so  I  had  to  stay ;  there  was  no 
other  way,  you  see. ' ' 

"Yes  ;  I  see,  Richard,  I  see." 

It  was  food  and  drink  to  him,  this  appar- 
ent sympathy  of  hers.  To  have  her  choose 
to  call  him  Richard  was  a  sweet  thing  to 
him.  It  gave  him  a  kind  of  dignity  in  his 
own  eyes  that  he  had  never  thought  of 
claiming. 

He  regretted  more  than  he  had  ever  done 
in  his  life  that  he  had  lived  so  ignorant  of 
the  ways  of  the  world  in  which  s/ie  lived, 
that  he  was  not  master  of  any  of  the  arts 
and  graces  w^hich  women  love. 

She  saw  all  this.  She  was  a  clear,  quick- 
brained  woman,  wuth  intellect  enough  to  see 
the  sweetness,  the  unselfishness  of  such  a 


By  American  Authors.  87 

character  as  his,  but  without  heart  enough 
to  reverence  it.  She  saw,  too,  how  nearly 
he  came  to  having  the  divine  gift  of  genius  ; 
but  she  saw  also  that  while  these  machines 
worked  without  flaw,  and  the  thought- 
engine  rolled  with  perfect  motion  through 
his  brain,  that  not  for  him  would  their  grand 
possibilities  be  realized.  Some  more  practi- 
cal hand  would  execute  what  his  brain  con- 
ceived, the  flower  would  blossom  but  not 
for  him,  from  the  seed  of  his  sowing  great 
harvest  should  come,  but  not  for  his  hands 
to  gather. 

How  he  grew  to  worship  her !  with  all 
the  earnest  unselfishness  of  his  nature  he 
worshiped  her.  She  permitted  it ;  she 
liked  it.  It  interested  her  to  see  what  love 
would  do  for  such  a  man.  He  was  no  com- 
mon lover  ;  had  he  been  she  would  have 
grown  weary  of  him,  as  she  had  of  mau}^ 
others.  But  it  was  delightful  to  waken  this 
soul  to  a  new  life.  It  was  charming  to  read 
to  him,  to  sing  to  him,  and  see  him  draw  in 
her  voice  as  though  it  were  the  breath  of 
life.  It  was  interesting  to  see  the  fire  in  the 
eyes,  and  know  that  it  burned  outward  from 
the  soul. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  how  happy  he  could 
be  made  by  a  little  warmer  smile  than  usual, 
by  a  little  kindlier  glance.  She  reasoned 
with  herself  that  it  would  do  no  harm  ;  that 
his  life  had  been  so  empty,  that  this  experi- 
ence, while  it  could  end  in  but  one  way. 


88  Capital  Stories 

would  still  be  good  for  him.  She  was  one 
of  those,  who,  having  known  little  of  sorrow, 
had  a  high  opinion  of  its  disciplinary  ad- 
vantages. 

^  ?fC  ^  5jC  >fC 

Then  one  day  there  came  a  letter  from 
Tom  ;  he  was  coming  home.  The  old  mother 
was  trembling  for  happiness.  The  girls  were 
delighted  that  Tom  was  coming  while 
Agatha  was  there.  She  would  like  Tom, 
everj'body  did.  Agatha  thought  to  herself 
that  it  might  be  a  good  thing.  She  was 
about  satisfied  with  the  result  of  her  experi- 
ment. Dick  said  little  ;  he  would  be  glad, 
too,  it  could  not  make  much  difference,  he 
thought.  Tom  Andrews  was  one  of  those 
men  who  seem  to  fill  a  house.  Gay,  hand- 
some, selfish,  acquainted  with  the  world 
and  fond  of  it,  with  a  gift  for  getting  money, 
but  a  greater  gift  for  spending  it ;  he  was  one 
of  those  men  whom  men  like  without  hav- 
ing any  great  respect  for,  and  whom  women 
love  half-knowing  his  unworthiness. 

Then  such  pain  came  to  Dick  as  he  had 
not  supposed  the  world  could  hold.  He 
could  understand  why  a  woman  might  pre- 
fer Tom  to  himself,  but  his  simple,  honest 
soul  could  not  see  why  an  interest  and  sym- 
pathy so  true  as  Agatha's  had  been  could 
wane  so  suddenly.  With  an  abject  admira- 
tion for  Tom  and  his  attractions,  he  had 
still  such  absolute  constancy  himself  that 
he  could  not  understand  how  any  one  could 


By  A77ierican  Authors.  89 

be  swayed  in  love  or  friendship,  and  of  in- 
sincerity he  had  no  knowledge.  But  he  saw 
without  understanding  that  his  little  lease 
of  happiness  was  gone.  It  was  the  old 
way,  the  way  he  thought  he  was  used  to. 
The  best  of  everything  for  Tom,  always 
Tom. 

He  said  over  and  over  to  himself  that  it 
was  all  right.  That  she  had  done  nothing 
wrong.  Then  he  remembered  how  she 
looked  in  his  eyes  the  day  she  gave  him  the 
rose  out  of  her  hair,  and  how  she  had  once 
put  her  soft  hand  on  his  forehead,  and  how 
pleased  she  looked  when  he  brought  her  the 
lilies  from  the  pond,  and  called  him  a  dear, 
good  fellow  ;  but  it  must  be  that  it  w^as  the 
way  women  did,  and  must  be  right.  She 
meant  to  be  kind  to  him.  In  his  simple 
heart  he  never  once  thought  that  she  was  to 
blame  for  his  heart- ache,  that  she  had 
amused  herself  with  him  never  once  crossed 
his  mind.  She  was  so  good,  so  high,  so 
beautiful,  besides  she  was  a  woman,  and  he 
had  not  learned  that  women  could  be  any- 
thing but  true  and  noble. 

And  he  ought  not  to  begrudge  Tom  any 
happiness.  But  one  night  he  saw  Tom  and 
Agatha  standing  together  under  the  tree  in 
front  of  his  window.  The  moonlight  shone 
on  her  fair  hair,  and  he  thought  he  could 
see  the  very  smile  on  her  red  lips.  He  saw 
the  red  geranium  on  the  bosom  of  her  white 
gown,  he  noticed  how  white  her  arms  were, 


90  Capital  Stories 

and  how  lithe  and  graceful  her  form  as  she 
stood  looking  up  into  Tom's  e3'es  as  she  had 
looked  into  his.  And  then,  yes,  he  saw  Tom 
put  his  arms  around  her  and  draw  her  close, 
close  to  his  breast ;  he  saw  the  red  lips  lifted 
to  his  ;  he  saw  the  fair  head  droop  to  the 
strong  shoulder. 

He  did  not  groan  nor  rave,  he  did  not 
curse  nor  swear,  he  did  not  rail  against 
man's  treachery'-  nor  woman's  perfid}^,  but 
he  went  slowly  down  the  back  stairs  and 
out  to  the  stable.  He  pretended  to  himself 
that  he  wanted  to  see  if  everything  was  all 
right.  He  heard  his  sisters'  voices  in  the 
sitting-room.  They  had  each  a  lover,  and 
there  was  singing  and  merry  sounds  coming 
from  happy  hearts.  His  pet  horse  whinnied 
as  he  came  into  the  barn.  A  great  creature, 
magnificent  in  strength  and  limb,  which  no 
one  but  Dick  could  ever  manage.  He  put 
his  arms  round  the  horse's  neck  and  bowed 
his  head  on  the  gloss}^  mane. 

"It's  all  right,  Charley;  but  it's  hard, 
isn't  it,  old  fellow?  " 

That  was  all  ;  then  he  went  back.  Pass- 
ing his  mother's  bedroom  door,  she  called 
out,  "Good-night,  Tom." 

"  It's  Dick,  mother,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  Tom." 

"No,  it's  me." 

Then  he  remembered  that  Agatha  had 
told  him  that  he  should  not  say,  "It's  me," 
and  he  softly  corrected  himself.     Then  he 


By  American  Authors.  91 

saw  the  girls  bidding  a  gay  good-night  to 
their  lovers,  and  heard  Agatha  at  the  piano. 
He  sat  at  his  window  long,  looking  at  the 
stars  that  shone  brighter  as  the  moon  paled  ; 
he  remembered  what  she  had  called  their 
names.  Then  he  called  himself  a  foolish 
fellow.  It  was  all  right,  only  the  great  ache 
in  his  bosom  he  could  not  help  ;  he  did  not 
understand  why  he  should  be  so  hurt  in  his 
heart  by  anything  that  was  all  right,  as  that 
surely  was. 

II. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Andrews  was 
found  dead  in  her  bed.  Heart-disease,  the 
doctor  called  it.  There  was  sincere  grief, 
for  she  was  beloved  of  her  children  and  re- 
spected of  all.  But  the  suddenness  of  the 
blow  unnerved  them  all,  all  but  Dick.  He 
told  with  a  mighty  struggle  against  his 
tears  how  she  had  called  out  "good-night, 
Tom,"  the  night  before;  he  would  have 
given  half  his  life  if  that  last  good-night 
had  been  for  him.  Tom  made  him  say  it 
over  and  over,  and  told  it  over  to  others 
how  her  last  word  heard  by  mortal  ears  was 
lor  him.  And  they  all  wept  and  sobbed, 
and  wondered  that  Dick  could  do  the  things 
he  did,  for  it  was  he  who  attended  to  all  the 
details  of  the  funeral,  he  who  sat  in  the 
still  night  in  the  same  room  with  the  still 
body,  and  he  who  insisted  upon  helping  to 


92  Capital  Stories 

lay  it  in  the  coffin.  It  was  a  comfort  to  do 
these  things  ;  it  was  an  escape  for  the  terri- 
ble pain  in  his  heart.  The  others  had  words 
and  tears  and  moans  ;  his  sorrow  was  dumb, 
only  by  these  sad  ministries  could  it  find 
relief.  Hungry  and  thirsting  for  pity,  he 
heard  them  say,  "  It  was  strange  how  little 
Dick  felt  it,  they  did  not  see  how  he  could 
do  the  things  he  did  ;  they  knew  they  could 
not,  but  Dick  was  always  queer."  He 
supposed  it  was  because  he  was  queer  that 
he  could  not  cr}^  but  he  thought  that  maybe 
Agatha  understood  that  he  cared,  for  he 
had  heard  her  say  once  that  the  deepest 
sorrow  was  silent.  It  would  be  some  com- 
fort to  know  that  she  understood.  She  was 
so  busy  that  he  had  not  seen  her  much,  for 
she  w^as  attending  to  the  funeral  garments 
for  his  sisters.  She  was  arranging  the 
house,  and  conferring  with  the  singers.  But 
a  little  box  came  from  the  city  for  her  that 
last  morning,  and  as  she  took  it  in  the  room 
where  the  dead  lay,  he  follow^ed  her. 

He  untied  the  box,  and  helped  take  out 
the  mass  of  white  carnations  and  lay  them 
on  the  foot  of  the  casket.  ' '  Just  sixty-five, ' ' 
she  said  ;  "just  as  many  as  she  had  lived 
years. ' ' 

As  they  laid  the  flowers  down  their  hands 
met  an  instant ;  he  felt  the  ring  on  her 
finger,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  one  Tom  had 
worn  for  years,  and  she  was  wearing  it  now. 
The  touch  of  the  ring  brought  it  all  back, 


By  Ame?'ican  Authors.  93 

all  the  agony  of  that  night  when  all  his 
hope  died,  and  a  vague  thought  came 
that  he  too  was  dead,  dead  with  the 
breath  yet  in  him,  and  the  world  fair  around 
him,  only  not  dead  to  pain,  as  they  thought 
he  was. 

It  was  said  a  few  days  after  the  funeral 
that  Agatha  was  going  home.  The  girls 
pleaded  for  a  longer  stay,  but  she  had  been 
with  them  more  than  two  months,  and  she 
must  go.  Tom  said  nothing  ;  but  Dick  said 
to  her  as  they  met  on  the  stairs  an  hour 
later : 

"  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  Agatha." 

"Yes,  Richard;"  and  she  said,  "let's 
take  a  little  walk." 

She  would  have  gone  out  in  the  shade  of 
the  big  tree  in  front  of  the  window,  but  he 
said  no,  not  there.  She  sat  down  in  a  chair 
on  the  porch,  and  he  stood  beside  her. 

' '  Going  away,  Agatha  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  I  have  been  here  a  long  time.  It 
has  been  such  a  pleasant  time  ;  except  for 
this  dreadful  sorrow  for  you  all,  which  I, 
too,  feel  keenly,  I  should  say  it  was  the 
happiest  summer  I  had  known  for  a  long, 
long  time.  It  has  been  almost  perfect,  has 
It  not,  Richard  ?  ' ' 

He  had  not  dreamed  of  saying  the  words 
that  came  to  his  lips,  he  had  onlj^  meant  to 
speak  of  Tom,  and  of  the  engagement 
which  he  supposed  existed,  and  to  ask  her 


94  Capital  Stories 

to  stay  right  along  ;  but  the  calm  way  in 
which  she  spoke  of  her  happy  summer  was 
too  much  ;  he  surprised  her  and  himself  not 
less  by  saying  : 

*'  It  has  been  heaven  and  hell  both,  and 
you've  made  both  for  me." 

''What  do  you  mean,  Richard  ?  " 

"  If  3'ou  don't  know  what  I  mean,  noth- 
ing that  I  can  say  would  make  j^ou,  and 
maybe  you  don't  know,  maybe  you  don't. 
Of  course  you  don't  if  you  say  so.  Perhaps 
I  never  should  have  told  you  how  much  I 
loved  you,  for  I  knew  all  the  time  it  was  no 
use  ;  but,  though  I'd  got  used  to  giving  up 
before  Tom,  it  was  mighty  hard  to  see  3'ou 
go  with  the  rest.  But  it's  all  right,  and  I 
won't  blame  you  for  loving  Tom.  You  do 
love  him,  I  suppose  ?  "  There  was  a  look 
in  his  eyes  that  w^as  touchingly  pathetic. 
A  look  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
hide  the  little  hope  that  seemed  determined 
to  live. 

"Yes,  I  love  Tom ;  but  I  like  yoM,  Rich- 
ard, and  I  hope  we  shall  be  friends.  I'm 
sorry  that  you  feel  so  bad  ;  but  you  are 
strong,  and  you  will  conquer  it." 

' '  I  reckon  trouble  is  something  like  sick- 
ness ;  it  goes  hardest  with  the  strongest 
sometimes,"  he  said. 

"I've  helped  you  some  this  summer, 
Richard.  I've  given  you  some  pleasure," 
she  said.  She  was  sorry  for  him  as  he 
stood    there.       So    strong     in    frame    and 


By  American  Authors.  95 

muscle.  So  strong  in  his  faith  and  patience, 
with  such  a  capacity  for  endurance  in  suf- 
fering. 

Though  she  had  been  cruel  to  him,  she 
understood  him  better  than  the  others  did, 
perhaps  because  her  wrongs  toward  him 
were  greater  than  theirs.  Something  like 
this  she  thought  as  she  said,  "I've  helped 
you  some,  Richard." 

"  I  don't  know;  you've  meant  to,  perhaps, 
and  if  you  meant  to  and  hurt  me  instead, 
why,  you're  not  to  blame,  I  suppose." 

The  old  platitudes  rose  to  her  lips. 
"Sometimes  troubles  are  good  for  us. 
Sometimes  they  make  us  stronger  and  nobler, 
and  in  the  end  happier.  The  greatest  deeds 
have  been  done  by  men  who  had  hard  lives, 
and  the  greatest  poems  have  been  written  by 
men  who  had  sad  hearts." 

"But  I'm  not  that  kind,  and  I  know  it," 
he  said,  simpl3^  "I  guess  they  didn't  do 
all  these  great  things  because  of  the  trouble, 
but  in  spite  of  it ;  besides,  if  they  did,  seems 
'twouldn't  hardly  pay  'em.  I've  read  some- 
where that  when  men  want  the  turtle  shell 
that  is  made  into  pretty  combs  and  such  for 
women  to  wear,  they  catch  the  turtle  and 
tie  a  string  to  him  so  he  can't  get  away, 
then  put  hot  coals  on  his  back,  more  and 
more  of  'em,  and  hotter  and  hotter,  till  the 
shell  cracks  ;  the  poor  turtle  is  just  crazy 
with  the  pain,  but  it  can't  get  away  ;  and 
they  get  the  shell,  and  the  pretty  women  wear 


96  Capital  Stories 

the  combs  ;  but  seems  to  me  the  turtle  has 
a  hard  time  of  it." 

"That's  horrible,  Richard,  and  I  don't 
think  it's  true,  either." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  as  it's  true,  but  I've 
read  it  somewhere." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  that  sorrow  ever 
helps  anybody  ? ' ' 

"  Seems  to  me,  it  depends  a  good  deal  on 
what  sort  of  sorrow  it  is,  and  how  it  comes 
to  a  body.  I've  read  again  somewhere  that 
there  is  in  some  far-off  countr}^  a  little  fly  or 
insect,  or  something  of  that  vSort,  that  the 
people  take  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  have 
live  because  the  sting  of  it  ripens  a  little 
quicker  a  certain  sort  of  fruit  that  the  people 
are  fond  of.  It  sort  o'  stings  it  into  ripe- 
ness. It  isn't  quite  perfect  fruit,  but  it  has 
ripened  quicker  for  the  sting.  But  that 
isn't  what  I  was  going  to  talk  about.  Sue 
will  be  married  this  winter,  and  Mary,  too, 
perhaps  ;  and  as  I'm  going  away,  seems  to 
me  it  would  be  the  right  thing  for  3^ou  and 
Tom  to  be  married,  and — and  to  keep  the 
old  place  up  ;  that  is,  if  you  and  he  could 
be  contented  on  the  farm.  I'd  like  to  think 
that  you  were  here." 

"  I  don't  know — when  are  you  going?" 
She  tried  to  ask  the  question  sympatheti- 
cally. She  was  ashamed  not  to  care  when 
in  his  heart-break  he  was  making  such  plans 
for  her,  but  he  only  answered,  "I'll  talk  to 
Tom,  and  see  what  he  says,  and  if  he'll 
consent  to  stay  it'll  be  all  right." 


By  American  Authors.  97 


III. 

Tom  would  stay,  nothing  could  suit  him 
better  ;  he  had  indulged  his  fancy  for  rov- 
ing, he  had  spent  all  the  money  he  had, 
and  he  had  very  small  fondness,  and  still 
smaller  talent,  for  making  money.  The 
farm  was  in  good  order,  there  was  no  in- 
cumbrance upon  it,  he  would  be  able  to 
keep  all  the  necessary  help  for  himself  and 
his  wife,  thanks  to  Dick's  economy  and 
management ;  and  altogether  he  imagined 
that  though  his  experience  was  limited,  it 
would  not  be  a  difficult  thing  to  make  life 
a  pleasant  thing  on  the  farm,  and  it  was  his 
firm  belief  that  life  should  be  a  pleasant 
thing — his  life,  anyway.  And  so  it  was 
arranged. 

Agatha  went  home,  and  in  a  few  weeks 
Tom  went  for  her  and  they  were  married. 
The  house  was  in  order  for  their  return. 
The  day  they  were  to  come,  Dick  was  in 
the  little  room  all  day.  He  packed  up  the 
models  of  the  inventions  over  which  he  had 
had  such  dreams,  and  his  trunks  and  boxes 
were  taken  from  the  house.  Then,  when 
night  came,  he  went  out  to  his  mother's 
grave,  for  she  was  buried  in  her  own  ground 
in  sight  of  her  own  door.  He  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  engine  at  the  station  two 
miles  away  ;  he  stayed  there  at  the  grave 
till  the  old-fashioned  rockaway  drove  up  to 


98  Capital  Stories 

the  door  of  the  house  ;  he  strained  his  e\'es 
to  see  the  bride  as  she  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  home,  her  home  henceforth.  Then 
he  walked  away  toward  the  village  and  the 
train  which  he  knew  would  be  due  there  in 
an  hour.  It  was  the  only  cowardice  and 
deception  of  his  life,  but  he  said  over  and 
over  to  himself  as  he  walked  along,  "  I 
couldn't  bear  any  more — I  couldn't  bear 
any  more."  In  a  little  note  in  his  room 
they  found  his  simple  good-by. 

They  were  sorry,  so  they  said,  that  he 
had  gone  ;  and  so  they  were — sorry  as  peo- 
ple are  whose  own  lives  are  full  of  their  own 
hopes  and  plans  and  pleasures. 

In  midwinter  the  sisters  both  married, 
and  their  portion  was  given  to  them.  There 
was  a  verbal  understanding  that  a  certain 
part  of  the  profits  from  the  farm  were  to 
be  placed  in  the  bank  subject  to  Dick's 
order. 

He  went  West.  The  wonderful  stories 
of  the  Pacific  coast  lured  him  on,  and  it 
made  little  difference.  He  had  no  great 
plans  or  aims  ;  he  had  no  great  dream  or 
hopes.  His  heart-ache,  heavy,  dull,  and 
constant,  left  him  no  room  for  sweet  imag- 
inings, had  he  ever  been  given  to  such. 

His  wants  were  simple,  but,  simple  as 
they  were,  they  were  not  always  met.  Al- 
ways the  wind  blew  in  his  face. 

A  little  mining,  a  little  stock-raising,  a 
little  working:  as  a  common  farm- hand,  and 


By  American  Authors,  99 

the  months  went  by.  Then,  after  a  little, 
he  went  into  the  sunny  Southern  California. 
Nature  was  warm  of  heart  toward  him. 
Fruits  and  flowers  seem  to  know  his  hand. 
And  here  three  serene  years  went  by.  The 
curious  people,  made  up  of  many  peoples, 
learned  to  know  and  love  him.  Cunning 
Spaniards,  wily  French,  and  the  sharp, 
shrewd  men  from  his  own  land.  The  pretty 
Sefioritas  and  the  practical,  ambitious 
women  from  Yankee-land  all  learned  to 
know  the  simple  stranger,  whose  inability 
to  learn  the  world's  wisdom  made  them 
place  him  now  in  the  categorj^  of  saints, 
and  now  in  that  of  fools.  At  long  intervals 
he  wrote  home,  and  at  longer  intervals  they 
wrote  to  him.  Three  children  had  been 
born  to  Tom  and  Agatha.  Once  they 
wrote  of  alterations  and  improvements  they 
had  been  making  in  the  old  house  ;  then  of 
failures  in  this  or  that  crop  ;  then  of  ill- 
health.  Then  again  of  good  times  and  new 
expenditures. 

And  he  wrote  very  simply  of  himself, 
making  no  murmurs,  telling  not  a  word  of 
the  loneliness  and  emptiness  of  life,  saying 
nothing  of  the  pain  of  his  constant  nature. 

But  after  a  time  he  turned  again  to  his 
models.  The  old  love  came  upon  him,  and 
again  his  nights  saw  him  repeating  the  old 
attempts  to  realize  his  dreams.  Then  he 
thought  success  stood  at  his  side.  Ah  !  he 
had  what  he  sought  !    Then  he  remembered 


loo  Capital  Stories 

that  a  certain  share  of  the  profits  of  the  old 
farm  was  h'ing  in  the  bank  at  home,  and  he 
had  learned  the  lesson  that  all  men,  wise  or 
foolish,  learn,  that  though  his  invention 
was  one  that  would  move  the  world  it 
would  take  money  to  prove  the  fact. 

He  wrote  to  Tom  to  send  the  money. 
Tom  wrote,  or  Agatha  wrote,  that  they  were 
sorry,  but  Tom  had  used  it.  It  wasn't  a 
great  sum  any  wa}^  and  their  expenses  had 
been  large  the  last  two  3'ears,  and  they  had 
improved  the  old  place,  and  of  course  that 
had  cost  a  large  sum,  and  altogether  there 
wasn't  much  due  him,  but  by-and-by,  when 
he  came  home,  they  would  make  it  all 
right. 

He  read  the  letter  twice  slowl}-.  He  had 
seen  dishonesty  ;  he  had  seen  men  shot 
down  in  broad  day  without  a  moment's 
warning  ;  he  had  seen  vileness  flaunting 
the  streets,  and  vice  in  high  places,  and  vir- 
tue cold  and  hungr>^  ;  still  his  honest  heart 
made  no  accusation  against  his  brother.  It 
was  all  right ;  at  any  rate  the  woman  he 
had  loved  had  been  made  happier  by  it,  and 
what  more  could  he  ask  that  his  money 
should  do  ;  it  was  right.  Then  once  more 
he  locked  the  doer  upon  his  hopes,  and 
turned  away  to  fight  this  last  disappoint- 
ment. If  he  had  made  any  moans,  none 
heard  them.  If  he  whispered  his  griefs 
sometimes  to  his  beloved  grape-vines  to 
whose  service  he  gave  his  heart,  that  was 


By  America7i  Authors.  loi 

all.  They  gave  generous  return  for  his  ser- 
vice, but  they  never  betrayed  his  secrets. 

The  poetic  people  about  him,  the  smooth- 
voiced  Seiiors  and  Sefioritas  spoke  of  him  as 
the  gentle  Seiior  who  had  no  gray  hairs  nor 
wrinkles  in  his  heart. 

Then  one  day  there  came  a  letter  from 
Agatha.  Tom  was  dead !  He  had  died 
three  months  before  the  letter  reached  Dick. 
There  were  many  expressions  of  sorrow ; 
there  were  laments  over  the  sad  condition  in 
which  affairs  were  left.  Tom  had  been 
careless,  and  there  were  four  children,  and 
she  did  not  know  what  she  should  do  under 
her  burdens.  She  asked  for  nothing,  but 
there  was  no  need.  The  next  mail  took  all 
the  money  which  Dick  could  control,  and  it 
took  also  many  kind  words,  awkwardly  ex- 
pressed, but  beating  with  the  sincerity  of 
his  soul,  and  also  the  promise  of  more  help 
speedily. 

He  would  have  gone  home,  but  some- 
thing, a  feeling  he  could  not  give  a  name  to, 
held  him  back.  He  wanted  to  know  more 
of  them  all  than  the  infrequent  letters  told  ; 
he  wanted,  God  only  knew  how  fervently, 
to  see  the  old  home,  his  mother's  grave,  and 
that  new  one  beside  it ;  he  wanted  to  see  his 
sisters'  laces,  and  Agatha,  and  Agatha's 
children.  More  deeply  than  he  could  tell 
almost  more  wildly  than  he  acknowledged  to 
himself,  did  his  starved  heart  cry  out  against 
its  hunger  that  had  fed  upon  famine  only. 


I02  Capital  Stories 

By  and  by  he  would  go  home,  but  not 
yet.  He  grew  wildly  ambitious  to  make 
money — money  so  that  he  could  take  care 
of  Tom's  children,  and  make  the  way  smooth 
for  Agatha — only  for  that. 

He  told  his  wants  one  day  to  a  friend  ; 
told  simply  that  he  wanted  more  money 
than  he  had  or  saw  any  way  of  getting. 
And  then  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  he  said, 
"  I've  got  something  that  I'm  going  to  show 
you.  I've  had  a  notion  that  it  was  worth 
something,  but  I  don't  know  sure,  leastways 
it  can  do  no  harm  to  show  it. ' '  So  half  the 
night  they  sat  examining  and  talking  about 
the  invention  which  Dick  had  thought  he 
had  forever  given  up. 

Josiah  Green  was  a  quick,  clear-headed 
man,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  the  worldl}^ 
business  man,  he  was  honest.  At  a  glance, 
almost,  he  saw  the  value  of  Dick's  inven- 
tion, and  after  examining  it  closely  he 
thought  he  saw  the  remedy  for  certain  flaws 
which  seemed  to  exist  in  it.  But  he  met 
the  imploring,  doubting  look  in  Dick's  eyes 
with  a  cool  and  an  almost  discouraging  look. 
"What  did  he  think  of  it?"  Well,  he 
couldn't  just  tell  ;  it  might  be  good  for 
something,  and  then  again  it  mightn't. 
He'd  think  about  it  and  tell  him  next  day. 

The  next  day  he  said:  "I  think,  Dick, 
that  if  that  machine  of  yours  was  just  right, 
it  would  be  a  mighty  big  thing,  but  'taint 
just  right,  or  that's  the  way  it  looks  to  me, 


By  American  Authors.  103 

and  if  it  comes  withia  an  inch  of  perfection, 
it  might  as  well  be  a  mile,  yon  know." 

*'  Perhaps  I  can  make  it  right." 

"  Perhaps  yon  can  ;  but  you've  been  ten 
years  about  it,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  ten  years." 

"And  then,  you've  to  get  it  patented, 
and  I've  had  some  experience  in  patents. 
A  man  said  to  me  once  :  '  Whatever  else  you 
do  in  the  world.  Green,  don't  invent  any- 
thing. '  You  hear  me !  And  I'  ve  kept  clear 
of  it.  And  then  when  you  apply  for  a 
patent  you've  got  to  be  mighty  sure  that 
there's  no  fellow  ahead  of  you,  or  you're  in 
trouble,  and  after  the  thing  is  patented,  and 
is  all  right,  why  you've  got  to  have  money 
and  lots  of  experience  and  good  hard  sense 
of  a  practical  sort  to  get  it  on  the  market, 
and  you  won't  mind  my  telling  3^ou,  Dick, 
that  you're  not  that  sort.  You'd  be  the 
round  peg  in  the  square  hole,  eh  ?  " 

"What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I'  11  tell  you  what  /'//  do.  I'll  buy  that 
thing  of  you,  outright.  I'll  take  my  chances 
on  perfecting  it.  I'll  get  it  patented,  and  if 
it  is  a  success  I'll  make  money  out  of  it,  and 
if  it  isn't,  why,  it'll  take  its  place  with  the 
rest  of  the  trash  the  world  is  full  of.  I'll 
give  you  five  thousand  dollars  for  it  just  as 
it  is.     What  do  you  say  ? ' ' 

Dick  showed  the  simplicity  of  his  nature 
by  asking,  "What  would  you  do  if  you 
were  me  ?  ' ' 


I04  Capital  Stories 

The  man  from  Maine,  as  Josiah  Green 
was  alwaj's  called,  looked  with  half-pity  on 
Dick  as  he  answered  in  entire  honesty,  "  If 
I  were  you  I'd  take  it  quicker  than  light- 
ning !  ' ' 

"Do  you  think  that's  as  much  as  it's 
worth?" 

' '  You  are  the  strangest  man  I  ever  set 
eyes  on.  You  act  as  though  a  man  making 
a  bargain  was  bound  to  work  for  the  other 
party's  interest  as  well  as  his  own.  Now, 
your  confounded  faith  in  me  leads  me  to  say, 
that  I  think  I've  offered  you  all  that  the 
thing  is  worth  to  yoii ;  all  and  more  than 
you'll  be  likely  to  get  for  it  from  anybody 
else,  or  through  any  effort  of  3'our  own  ;  but 
if  it  were  mine,  I  wouldn't  sell  it  for  what 
I  advise  3'ou  to  take, — all  because  I'm  a 
different  sort  of  man  from  what3-ou  are.  I 
couldn't  have  done  what  you  have  so  far — 
head  isn't  shaped  right  ;  but  now,  I  can  take 
it,  and  make  something  out  of  it,  I  think. 
You  can't.  Your  head  isn't  shaped  right 
for  that.  See  ?  Now  you  can  think  about 
it,  and  let  me  know,  and  if  you  say  yes, 
we'll  go  up  to  'Frisco,  and  have  it  all  ar- 
ranged whenever  you  say  so." 

And  Dick  accepted  the  offer.  They  went 
to  'Frisco,  and  it  was  legally  arranged. 
When  he  saw  the  model,  the  child  of  his 
heart,  carried  out  of  his  room,  he  bent  his 
head  and  wept.  But  there  was  the  money, 
and   what  would  not  that   do  toward   the 


By  American  Authors.  105 

comtort  of  those  he  loved  ?  And  added  to 
this  were  the  proceeds  of  the  well-beloved 
vines  and  fig-trees.  All  that  he  cared  most 
for  that  was  really  his  own,  was  represen- 
ted by  the  yellow  gold  and  crisp  bank- 
notes. 

It  was  more  than  a  year  since  Tom  died, 
and  he  would  go  home.  It  was  his  home, 
save  such  portion  of  it  as  would  come  to 
Agatha,  as  Tom's  widow,  and  surely  he  had 
a  right  to  seek  his  own.  He  found  all 
so  changed  ;  the  ' '  slight  improvements  ' ' 
meant  bay-windows,  and  porches,  and  won- 
derful painting,  and  tiling,  and  all  the 
aesthetic  decorations  of  the  day.  There 
were  fine  furnishings  inside,  and  a  fountain 
on  the  lawn.  There  were  shabby  out-build- 
ings, and  empty  granaries,  and  ill-cared-for 
stock,  and  worse- cared- for  fields.  There 
were  debts,  debts,  debts.  And  there  was 
Agatha,  older,  but  scarcely  less  beautiful, 
wearing  her  widow's  weeds,  and  the  chil- 
dren, who  at  once  loved  the  "Uncle  Dick," 
who  had  lots  of  money  and  would  spend  it 
with  them. 

It  was  easy  to  understand  why  all  had 
gone  so  ill.  Extravagance  rather  than  mis- 
fortune had  wrought  all  the  trouble,  and 
Dick's  work  was  plain  to  his  eyes. 

Steadil}^  he  looked  into  matters,  and  pa- 
tiently he  set  about  in  his  slow  fashion  to 
mend  them.  The  neighbors  said  that  the 
coming  home  of  Dick  Andrews,  queer  as  he 


io6  Capital  Stories 

was,  was  a  blessing  to  the  widow  and  the 
children.  In  a  year's  time  there  was  less 
display  at  the  front  of  the  house  and  more 
comfort  inside.  He  assumed  the  burdens, 
and  no  one  objected  to  his  bearing  burdens. 
He  enjoyed  it.  Agatha  was  very  kind  ; 
with  returning  prosperity  her  spirits  re- 
turned. There  was  no  comfort  or  pleasure 
that  could  be  laid  at  her  feet  that  was  not 
provided.  A  little  remonstrance  she  would 
offer,  but  the  reply  always  came  :  "  I've  no 
other  use  for  money,  and  I  shan't  buy  any- 
thing I  can't  afford."  Dick  was  almost 
happy  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  were  as 
strong  as  he  used  to  be,  he  would  be  quite 
happy  ;  but  the  years,  and  the  roving  life, 
and  the  exposures,  had  told  upon  him  ;  he 
was  not  quite  strong. 

But  home  was  so  pleasant  !  Agatha  was 
so  sweet  and  kind  !  They  had  in  the  sum- 
mer evenings  pleasant  rides  over  the  old 
familiar  roads.  Always  at  night  he  rode  to 
the  village  for  the  mail,  and  two  or  three 
times  each  week  she  would  go  with  him,  for 
she  had  a  correspondence — business  letters, 
she  said,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  Dick  to 
wonder  what  the  business  could  be  that  he 
did  not  know. 

He  was  almost  happy,  and  the  old  dream 
of  being  entirely  happy  came  back.  Who 
knew  ?  Perhaps  it  might  be,  after  all  ;  per- 
haps, after  all  these  3^ears,  it  would  come  to 
him— the  hope  of  his  soul,  the  desire  of  his 


By  American  Authors.  107 

life.  Perhaps  the  winds  of  fate  would  blow 
fairly  for  him  yet. 

That  night  they  sat  together  by  the  fire 
after  the  children  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
talked  of  the  past.  With  her  Dick  was  at 
his  best.  Almost  he  had  spoken  his  thought, 
when  she  said:  "  Dick,  there's  something  I 
want  to  tell  you.  I  was  not  quite  heart- 
whole  when  I  married  Tom.  I  loved" — 
Great  God  !  what  was  she  going  to  say  ? — 
"  I  loved  another,  or  I  had  loved  another 
man  before  I  saw  him  or  you."  Ah,  what 
a  ridiculous  thought  that  was  that  flashed 
upon  Dick  for  an  instant  !  *  *  And  six  months 
ago,  one  day  when  you  happened  to  be  away, 
he  came,  this  old  lover,  and,  Dick,  you  un- 
derstand— he  wants  me  to  marry  him — and 
—and " 

*  *  You  want  to  marry  him  ? ' ' 

' '  I  have  said  that  I  would — in  the  spring, 
perhaps.  We  shall  go  away  from  here,  and 
then,  Dick,  dear,  you  must  marry  and  stay 
in  the  old  home.  The  old  place  is  yours, 
anyway,  Dick,  or  ought  to  be." 

'  *  The  place  will  be  yours  and  your  chil- 
dren's  after  you." 

"  You  are  glad  that  I  am  going  to  find  love 
and  care  and  the  protection  of  a  strong  heart 
again?  Oh,  you've  been  good  and  kind, 
Dick,  but  you  know — or  no,  you  don't  know 
— how  lonesome  a  heart  can  be,  after  all." 

How  could  he  make  her  understand  his 
lift  long    hunger ;    what  was    the  use    of 


io8  Capital  Stories 

saj^ng  anything  ?  So  he  said  only,  "I  sup- 
pose not. ' ' 

"  And  are  yoM  glad?  " 

What  was  the  use  of  saying  anything,  ex- 
cept what  she  seemed  to  want  him  to  say  ? 
what  did  it  matter  if  he  lied  ?  So  he  looked 
her  straight  in  the  eyes  and  said  he  was  glad, 
glad  for  anything  that  made  her  happy. 

Then  death,  which,  it  is  said,  to  ever^^ 
mortal  thing  comes  too  early  or  too  late,  re- 
membered him.  Death,  pitA'ingl}^  took  him 
out  of  the  warm,  cruel  hands  of  life.  It 
was  a  general  decline,  the  doctor  said, 
brought  about  by  exposure,  together  with 
an  inherited  "tendency  to  pulmonary'  trou- 
bles." His  father  and  Tom  had  gone  in 
something  the  same  wa3^  They  did  not 
know  that  he  was  dying  of  a  broken  heart 
— men  do  not  die  of  broken  hearts,  the  doc- 
tors sa^^  He  made  his  Vvdll,  and  the  law^-er, 
a  little  keener  of  sight,  said  to  himself,  "  He 
is  not  the  first  man  who  has  wasted  heart 
and  soul  and  substance  on  a  woman  too 
blind  to  see  and  too  selfish  to  care  for  it." 

The  da}'  before  he  died  came  a  lot  of 
papers,  giving  an  account  of  the  trial  and 
perfect  success  of  a  certain  invention  which 
was  to  work  wonders  in  the  world  of 
mechanical  labor.  It  was  spoken  of  as  the 
product  of  great  inventive  genius  wedded  to 
patience  and  skill. 

There  came  also  a  line  from  Josiah  Green. 


i 


By  Ame7'ican  Authors.  109 

"It's  all  right,  old  honest  heart,  a  great 
success!  I  found  the  'missing  link,'  just 
enough  to  make  it  honest  for  me  to  call  it 
mine.  Already  I  see  a  big  fortune  in  it  ; 
and  the  world,  quick  to  see  a  good  thing, 
sees  it  also,  and  there  are  plenty  with  money 
ready  to  take  hold  of  it  if  I  want,  which  I 
don't.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you 
let  me  know." 

"There's  nothing  that  can  be  done  for 
me,"  said  Dick.  "I  wish  that  this  child  of 
mine  could  have  borne  my  name.  I  wish 
I  could  have  left  something,  that  the  world 
would  have  known  I  had  given  it  some- 
thing. But  it's  like  all  the  rest  of  my  life, 
and  it's  all  right.  I  hope  that  somewhere 
there  is  a  world  where  all  the  failures  and 
the  blunders  of  this  will  be  understood.  I 
have  wished  and  longed  so  much,  and  could 
not  tell.  I  could  never  make  you  know, 
Agatha,  but  some  time  and  some  where  you 
w^ill  see,  I  hope,  not  what  I  did,  or  failed  to 
do,  but  what  I  would  have  done  ;  not  what 
I  was,  but  what  I  would  have  been  if  I  could. 
If  I  only  could  !  But  it  was  all  wrong  from 
the  beginning  ;  the  wind  always  blew  in  my 
face,  and — it — w^as — too — strong — for  me. 
But  I  think  the  wind  is  changing,  dear.  It 
is  blowing  soft  and  cool  and  sweet,  and  I  am 
going  with  it  now  at  last,  at  last."  So 
Death  remembered  him. 

Then  the  kisses  his  living  lips  never  knew 
were  given  to  him   dead,  the  flowers  that 


no  Capita  I  Stories 

had  never  blossomed  for  him  living  were 
piled  upon  his  coffin.  And  they  wept  and 
lamented  and  wished  that  they  had  loved 
him  more.  They  saw  the  sweetness  and 
the  sadness  of  his  unselfish,  denied  life 
when  it  was  too  late  to  love  the  one  or  help 
the  other.     'Tis  the  world's  way. 


A  TRUE  STORY. 

BY     MARK    TWAIN. 

It  was  summer  tim.e  and  twilight.  We 
were  sitting  on  the  porch  of  the  farm-house, 
on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  "Aunt 
Rachel  "  was  sitting  respectfully  below  our 
level,  on  the  steps,  for  she  w^as  our  servant 
and  colored.  She  was  of  mighty  frame  and 
stature  ;  she  was  sixty  years  old,  but  her 
eye  was  undimmed  and  her  strength  un- 
abated. She  was  a  cheerful,  hearty  soul, 
and  it  was  no  more  trouble  for  her  to  laugh 
than  it  is  for  a  bird  to  sing.  She  was  under 
fire  now,  as  usual  when  the  day  was  done. 
That  is  to  say,  she  was  being  chaffed  with- 
out merc3%  and  was  enjoying  it.  She  would 
let  off  peal  after  peal  of  laughter,  and  then 
sit  with  her  face  in  her  hands  and  shake 
with  throes  of  enjoyment  which  she  could 
no  longer  get  breath  enough  to  express.  At 


By  American  Authors.  in 

such  a  moment  as  this  a  thought  occurred 
to  me,  and  I  said  : 

"Aunt  Rachel,  how  is  it  that  you've 
lived  sixty  years  and  never  had  any 
trouble?" 

She  stopped  quaking.  She  paused,  and 
there  was  a  moment  of  silence.  She  turned 
her  face  over  her  shoulder  toward  me,  and 
said  without  even  a  smile  in  her  voice  : 

*'  Misto  C ,  is  you  in  'arnest  ?  " 

It  surprised  me  a  good  deal ;  and  it 
sobered  my  manner  and  my  speech,  too. 
I  said  : 

"Why,  I  thought— that  is,  I  meant— 
why,  you  carV t  have  had  any  trouble.  I've 
never  heard  you  sigh,  and  never  seen  your 
eye  when  there  wasn't  a  laugh  in  it." 

She  faced  fairly  around  now,  and  was  full 
of  earnestness. 

"  Has  I  had  any  trouble  !     Misto  C , 

I's  gwyne  to  tell  you,  den  I  leave  it  to  you. 
I  was  bawn  down  'mongst  de  slaves;  I 
knows  all  'bout  slavery,  'case  I  been  one  of 
'em  my  own  se'f.  Well,  sah,  my  ole  man, 
— dat's  my  husban' — he  was  lovin'  an'  kind 
to  me,  jist  as  kind  as  you  is  to  yo'  own 
wife.  An'  we  had  chil'en — seven  chil'en — 
an'  we  loved  dem  chil'en  jist  de  same  as 
you  loves  yo'  chil'en.  Dey  was  black,  but 
de  Lord  can't  make  no  chil'en  so  black  but 
what  dey  mother  loves  'em  an'  wouldn't 
give  'em  up,  no,  not  for  anything  dat's  in 
this  whole  world. 


112  Capital  Stories 

*'  Well,  sah,  I  was  raised  in  old  Fo'ginny, 
but  my  mother  she  was  raised  in  Maryland  ; 
an'  my  souls  !  she  was  tumble  when  she'd 
git  started.  W.y  Ian!  but  she'd  make  de 
ftir  fly  !  When  she'd  git  into  dem  tan- 
trums, she  alwaj's  had  one  word  dat  she 
said.  She'd  straighten  herse'f  up  an'  put 
her  fists  in  her  hips  an'  say,  '  I  want  you 
to  understan'  dat  I  wa'nt  bawn  in  de  mash 
to  be  fool'  by  trash  !  I's  one  o'  de  old  Blue 
Hen's  Chickens,  /is!'  'ca'se,  you  see, 
dat's  what  folks  dat's  bawn  in  Mar3'land 
calls  deyselves,  an'  dey's  proud  of  it.  Well, 
dat  was  her  word.  I  don't  ever  forgit  it, 
beca'se  she  said  it  so  much,  an'  beca'se  she 
said  it  one  day  when  my  little  Henry  tore 
his  wris'  awful,  and  most  busted  his  head, 
right  up  at  the  top  of  his  forehead,  an'  de  nig- 
gers didn't  fly  aroun'  fas'  enough  to  'tend  to 
him.  An'  when  dey  talk'  back  at  her,  she 
up  an'  she  says,  '  Look-a-heah  ! '  she  says, 
*  I  want  you  niggers  to  understan'  that  I 
wa'nt  bawn  in  de  mash  to  be  fool'  by  trash  ! 
I's  one  o'  de  ole  Blue  Hen's  Chickens,  / 
is  !  '  an*  den  she  clar'  dat  kitchen  an'  band- 
age' up  de  chile  herse'f.  So  I  says  dat 
word,  too,  when  I's  riled. 

"  Well,  bymeby  my  ole  mistis  says  she's 
broke,  an'  she'  got  to  sell  all  de  niggers  on 
de  place.  An'  when  I  hear  dat  dey  gwyne 
to  sell  us  all  off  at  oction  in  Richmon' ,  oh 
de  good  gracious  !  I  know  what  dat 
mean  !  " 


By  American  Authors.  113 

Aunt  Rachel  had  gradually  risen,  while 
she  warmed  to  her  subject,  and  now  she 
towered  above  us,  black  against  the  stars. 

"  Dey  put  chains  on  us  an'  put  us  on  a 
Stan'  as  high  as  dis  po'ch, — twenty  foot 
high, — an'  all  de  people  stood  aroun', 
crowds  an'  crowds.  An'  dey'd  come  up 
dah  an'  look  at  us  all  roun',  an'  squeeze  our 
arm,  an'  make  us  git  up  an'  walk,  an'  den 
say,  'Dis  one  too  ole,'  or  'Dis  one  lame,' 
or  '  Dis  one  don't  'mount  to  much.'  An' 
dey  sole  my  ole  man,  an'  took  him  away, 
an'  dey  begin  to  sell  my  chil'en  an'  take 
dem  away,  an'  I  begin  to  cry ;  an'  de 
man  say,  '  Shet  up  yo  fool  blubberin','  an' 
hit  me  on  de  mouf  wid  his  ban'.  An'  when 
de  las'  one  was  gone  but  my  little  Henry, 
I  grab'  him  clost  up  to  my  breas'  so,  an'  I 
ris  up  an'  says,  '  You  shan't  take  him 
away,'  I  says  ;  '  I'll  kill  de  man  that  tetches 
him  ! '  I  says.  But  my  little  Henry  whis- 
per an'  say,  '  I  gwyne  to  run  away,  an'  den 
I  work  an'  buy  yo'  freedom.'  Oh,  bless  de 
chile,  he  always  so  good  !  But  dey  got  him 
—  dey  got  him,  de  men  did  ;  but  I  took  an' 
tear  de  clo's  mos'  off  of  'em  an'  beat  'em 
over  de  head  wid  my  chain  ;  and  dey  give 
it  to  vie,  too,  but  I  didn't  mind  dat. 

"Well,  dah  was  my  ole  man  gone,  an' 
all  my  chil'en,  all  my  seven  chil'en — an* 
six  of 'em  I  hain't  set  eyes  on  ag'in  to  dis 
day,  an'  dat's  twenty- two  years  ago  las' 
Haster.     De  man  dat  bought  me  b'long  in 


114  ^^P  ^^^  ^  Stories 

Xewbern,  an'  he  took  me  dah.  Well,  b^^- 
raeby  de  years  roll  on  an'  de  wah  come. 
M}"  marster  he  was  a  Confedrit  colonel,  an' 
I  was  his  family's  cook.  So  when  de  Unions 
took  dat  town,  dey  all  run  awaj^  an'  lef  me 
all  b}'  m^^se'f  wid  de  other  niggers  in  dat 
mons'us  big  house.  So  de  big  Union  offi- 
cers move  in  dah,  an'  dey  ask  me  would  I 
cook  for  dem.  '  Lord  bless  3'ou,'  says  I, 
'  dat's  what  I's  for.' 

"  Dey  wa'nt  no  small-fry  officers,  mine 
you,  dey  was  de  biggest  dey  is ;  an'  de  way 
dey  made  dem  sojers  mosey  roun'  I  De 
Gen'l  he  tole  me  to  boss  dat  kitchen  ;  an' 
he  saj-,  '  If  anybody  come  meddlin'  wid 
3'ou,  you  jist  make  'em  walk  chalk  ;  don't 
you  be  afeard, '  he  says  ;  '  you's  'mong  frens, 
now.* 

"Well,  I  thinks  to  myse'f,  if  my  little 
Henr}^  ever  got  a  chance  to  run  away,  he'd 
make  to  de  Norf,  o'  course.  So  one  day  I 
comes  in  dah  whar  de  big  officers  was,  in 
de  parlor,  an'  I  drops  a  kurtch}^  so,  an'  I 
up  an'  tole  'em  'bout  my  Henry,  dey  a- 
listenin'  to  my  troubles  jist  de  same  as  if  I 
was  white  folks  ;  an'  I  says,  '  What  I  come 
for  is  beca'se  if  he  got  away  and  got  up 
Norf  whar  you  gemmen  comes  from,  you 
might  'a'  seen  him,  mabe,  an'  could  tell 
me  so  as  I  could  fine  him  ag'in  ;  he  was 
very  little,  an'  he  had  a  sk-yar  on  his  lef 
wris',  an'  at  de  top  of  his  forehad.'  Den 
dey  look  mournful,  an  de  Gen'l  sa}-,  '  How 


By  A meric an  Au thors .  115 

long  since  you  los'  him  ?'  an'  I  say, 
'Thirteen  year.'  Den  de  Gen'l  say,  'He 
wouldn't  be  little  no  mo',  now — he's  a 
man  ! ' 

"  I  never  thought  o'  dat  befo'  !  He  was 
only  dat  little  feller  to  vie,  yit.  I  never 
thought  'bout  him  growin'  up  and  bein'  big. 
But  I  see  it  den.  None  o'  de  gemmen  had 
run  acrost  him,  so  dey  couldn't  do  nothin' 
for  me.  But  all  dat  time,  do'  /didn't  know 
it,  my  Henry  was  run  off  to  de  Norf,  years 
an'  years,  an'  he  was  a  barber,  too,  an' 
worked  for  hisse'f.  An'  bymeby,  when  de 
wah  come,  he  ups  an'  he  says:  'I's  done 
barberin','  he  says,  '  I's  gwyne  to  fine  my 
ole  mammy,  less'n  she's  dead.'  So  he  sole 
out  an'  went  to  whar  dey  was  recruitin' ,  an' 
hired  hisse'f  out  to  de  colonel  for  his  ser- 
vant ;  an'  den  he  went  all  froo  de  battles 
every whah,  huntin'  for  his  ole  mammy  ;  yes 
indeedy,  he'd  hire  to  fust  one  officer  an'  den 
another,  tell  he'd  ransacked  de  whole  Souf  ; 
but  you  see  /  didn't  know  nuffin  'bout  dis. 
How  was  /  gwyne  to  know  it  ? 

"  Well,  one  night  we  had  a  big  sojer  ball ; 
de  sojers  dah  at  Newbern  was  always  havin' 
balls  an'  carry  in'  on.  Dey  had  'em  in  my 
kitchen,  heaps  o'  times,  'case  it  was  so  big. 
Mine  you,  I  was  down  on  sich  doins ;  beca'se 
my  place  was  wid  de  officers,  an'  it  rasp  me 
to  have  dem  common  sojers  cavortin'  roun' 
my  kitchen  like  dat.  But  I  alway'  stood 
aroun'  an'  kep'  things  straight,  I  did  ;  an' 


ii6  Capital  S to j'ies 

sometimes  de^-'d  git  m^'  dander  up,  an'  den 
I'd  make  'em  clar  dat  kitchen,  mine  I  tell 
you! 

"Well,  one  night — it  was  a  Friday  night 
— dey  comes  a  whole  platoon  f'm  a  nigger 
ridgment  dat  was  on  guard  at  de  house, — 
de  house  was  head-quarters,  you  know, — an' 
den  I  was  jist  2i-bilin'  I  Mad  ?  I  was  jist 
a.-boo)ni7i'  !  I  swelled  aroun',  an  swelled 
aroun'  ;  I  jist  was  a-itchin'  for  'em  to  do 
somefin  for  to  start  me.  An'  dey  was 
a-waltzin'  an'  a-dancin'  !  my  !  but  dey  was 
havin'  a  time !  an'  I  jist  a-swellin'  an' 
a-swellin'  up!  Pooty  soon,  'long  comes 
sich  a  spruce  3'oung  nigger  a-sailin'  down  de 
room  with  a  yaller  wench  roun'  de  wais'  ; 
an'  roun'  an'  roun'  an'  roun'  de}^  went, 
enough  to  make  a  body  drunk  to  look  at 
'em;  an'  when  dey  get  abreas'  o'  me,  dey 
went  to  kin'  o'  balancin'  aroun'  fust  on  one 
leg  an'  den  on  t'other,  an  smilin'  at  my  big 
red  turban,  an'  makin'  fun,  an'  I  ups  an' 
says  '  Git  along  wid  you  ! — rubbage  ! '  De 
young  man's  face  kin'  o'  changed,  all  of  a 
sudden  for  'bout  a  second,  but  den  he  went 
to  smilin'  ag'in,  same  as  he  was  befo'. 
Well,  'bout  dis  time,  in  comes  some  niggers 
dat  played  music  and  b'long'  to  de  ban',  an' 
dey  w^z'fr  could  git  along  without  puttin'  on 
airs.  An'  de  very  fust  air  dey  put  on  dat 
night,  I  lit  into  'em  !  Dey  laughed,  an'  dat 
made  me  wuss.  De  res'  o'  de  niggers  got 
to  laughin',  an'  den  my  soul  alive  \>vX  I  was 


By  America7i  Authors.  117 

hot !  My  eye  was  jist  a-blazin'  !  I  jist 
straightened  myself  up,  so, — ^jist  as  I  is  now, 
plum  to  de  ceilin',  mos', — an'  I  digs  my  fists 
into  my  hips,  an'  I  says,  '  Look-a-heah  !  '  I 
says,  '  I  want  you  niggers  to  understan'  dat 
I  wa'nt  bawn  in  the  mash  to  be  fool'  by 
trash  !  I's  one  o'  de  ole  Blue  Hen's  Chick- 
ens, /  is  ! '  an'  den  I  see  dat  young  man 
Stan'  a-starin'  an'  stiff,  lookin'  kin'  o'  up  at 
de  ceilin'  like  he  fo'got  somefin,  an'  couldn't 
'member  it  no  mo'.  Well,  I  jist  march  on 
dem  niggers, — so,  lookin'  like  a  gen'l, — an' 
dey  jist  cave'  away  befo'  me  an'  out  at  de 
do' .  An'  as  dis  young  man  was  a-goin'  out, 
I  heah  him  say  to  another  nigger,  *  Jim,'  he 
says,  '  you  go  'long  an'  tell  de  cap'n  I  be  on 
han'  'bout  eight  o'clock  in  de  mawnin'  ; 
dey 's  somefin  on  my  mine,'  he  says;  '  I  don't 
sleep  no  mo'  dis  night.  You  go  'long,'  he 
says,  '  an'  leave  me  by  my  own  se'f.' 

'  *  Dis  was  '  bout  one  o'  clock  in  de  mawnin' . 
Well,  'bout  seven,  I  was  up  an'  on  han', 
gittin'  de  officers'  breakfast.  I  was  a-stoop- 
in'  down  by  de  stove, — jist  so,  same  as  if 
yo'  foot  was  de  stove, — an'  I'd  opened  de 
stove  do'  wid  my  right  han',— so,  pushin'  it 
back,  jist  as  I  pushes  yo'  foot,— an'  I'd  jist 
got  de  pan  o'  hot  biscuits  in  my  han'  an' 
was  'bout  to  raise  up,  when  I  see  a  black 
face  come  aroun'  under  mine,  an'  de  eyes 
a-lookin'  up  into  mine,  jist  as  I's  a-lookin' 
up  clost  under  yo'  face  now ;  an'  I  jist 
stopped  right  dah,  an'  never  budged  !  jist 


1 1 8  Capital  Stories 

gazed,  an'  gazed,  so ;  an*  de  pan  begin  to 
tremble,  an'  all  of  a  sudden  I  kiiowed  !  De 
pan  drop'  on  de  Eo'  an'  I  grab  his  lef  ban' 
an'  shove  back  his  sleeve, — jist  so,  as  I's 
doin'  to  you, — an'  den  I  goes  for  his  fore- 
head an'  push  de  hair  back,  so,  an'  '  Boy  !  ' 
I  says,  '  if  you  an't  my  Henry,  what  is  you 
doin'  wid  dis  welt  on  yo'  wris'  an'  dat  sk-yar 
on  yo'  forehead  ?  De  Lord  God  ob  heaven 
be  praise',  I  got  my  own  ag'in  !  ' 

"Oh,  no,  Misto  C ,  I  hain't  had  no 

trouble.     An'noy^/" 


MINISTERS'  SUNSHINE. 

BY  T.  DE  WITT  TAI^MAGE. 

So  much  has  been  written  of  the  hardships 
of  clergymen,  small  salaries,  unreasonable 
churches,  mean  committees,  and  impudent 
parishioners,  that  parents  seeking  for  their 
children's  happiness  are  not  wont  to  desire 
them  to  enter  the  sacred  calling.  Indeed, 
the  story  of  empt}^  bread-trays  and  cheerless 
parsonages  has  not  half  been  told.  But  there 
is  another  side  to  the  picture.  Ministers' 
wives  are  not  all  vixens,  nor  their  children 
scapegraces.  Pastors  do  not  always  step  on 
thorns  and  preach  to  empty  benches.  The 
parish  sewing-societ}^  does  not  alw^ays  roast 
their   pastor   over   the  slow  fires  of  tittle- 


By  American  Authors.  119 

tattle.  There  is  no  inevitable  connection 
between  the  gospel  and  bronchitis.  As  far 
as  we  have  observed  the  brightest  sunshine 
is  ministers'  sunshine.  They  have  access 
to  refined  circles,  means  to  give  a  good  edu- 
cation to  their  children,  friends  to  stand  by 
them  in  every  perplexity,  and  through  the 
branches  that  drop  occasional  shadows  on 
their  way  sifts  the  golden  light  of  great  en- 
joyment. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  of  a  June  after- 
noon, the  sun  striking  aslant  upon  the  river, 
when  the  young  minister  and  his  bride  were 
riding  toward  their  new  home.  The  air  was 
bewitched  with  fragrance  of  field  and  gar- 
den, and  a  hum  with  bees  out  honey-mak- 
ing. The  lengthening  shadows  did  not  fall 
on  the  road  the  twain  passed  ;  at  least,  they 
saw  none.  The  leaves  shook  out  a  w^elcome, 
and  as  the  carriage  rumbled  across  the 
bridge  in  front  of  the  house  at  which  they 
were  for  a  few  days  to  tarry,  it  seemed  as  if 
hoof  and  wheel  understood  the  transport  of 
the  hour.  The  weeks  of  bridal  congratula- 
tion had  ended,  and  here  they  were  at  the 
door  of  the  good  deacon  who  would  enter- 
tain them.  The  village  was  all  astir  that 
evening.  As  far  as  politeness  would  allow, 
there  was  peering  from  the  doors,  and  look- 
ing through  the  blinds,  for  everybody  would 
see  the  new  minister's  wife  ;  and  children, 
swinging  on  the  gate,  rushed  in  the  back 
way  to  cry  out,  "They  are  coming  !  " 


1 20  Capital  Stories 

The  minister  and  his  bride  alighted  amid 
hearty  welcomes,  for  the  flock  had  been  for 
a  long  while  without  a  shepherd,  and  all 
imagined  something  of  the  embarrassment 
of  a  young  man  with  the  ink  hardly  dry  on 
his  parchment  of  licensure,  and  a  girl  just 
entering  into  the  responsibility  of  a  clergy- 
man's wife. 

After  tea,  some  of  the  parishioners  came 
in  ;  old  Mr.  Bromlette  stepped  up  to  offer  a 
greeting.  He  owned  a  large  estate,  had  been 
born  in  high  life,  was  a  genuine  aristocrat, 
and  had  in  his  possession  silver  plate  which 
his  father  used  in  entertaining  General 
Washington.  He  had  no  pretension  or 
pomp  of  manner,  but  showed  by  his  walk 
and  his  conversation  that  he  had  alwaj-s 
moved  in  polite  circles.  He  was  a  fat  man, 
and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow — 
sweat  started  not  more  by  his  walk  than  the 
excitement  of  the  occasion — and  said,  ' '  Hot 
night,  dominie!"  He  began  the  conversa- 
tion by  asking  the  minister  who  his  father 
was,  and  who  his  grandfather  ;  and  when 
he  found  that  there  was  in  the  ancestral  line 
of  the  minister  a  dignitary,  seemed  de- 
lighted, and  said,  "  I  knew  him  well. 
Danced  forty  years  ago  with  his  daughter  at 
Saratoga."  He  added,  "  I  think  we  will  be 
able  to  make  you  comfortable  here.  We 
have  in  our  village  some  families  of  highly 
respectable  descent.  Here  is  our  friend  over 
the  way  ;  his  grandfather  was  wounded  at 


By  American  Authors.  121 

Monmouth.  He  would  have  called  in  to- 
night, but  he  is  in  the  city  at  a  banquet 
given  in  honor  of  one  of  the  English  lords. 
Let  me  see;  what's  his  name?"  At  this 
point  the  door  opened,  and  the  servant 
looked  in  and  said,  * '  Mr.  Bromlette,  your 
carriage  is  waiting."  "Good-night,  dom- 
inie !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  I  hope 
to  see  you  at  my  house  to-morrow.  The 
Governor  will  dine  with  us,  and  about  two 
o'clock  my  carriage  will  call  for  you.  You 
look  tired.  Better  retire  early.  Good-night, 
ladies  and  gentlemen  !  " 

MacMillan,  the  Scotchman,  now  entered 
into  conversation.  He  was  brawny  and 
blunt.  Looked  dead  in  earnest.  Seldom 
saw  anything  to  laugh  it.  He  was  of  the 
cast-iron  make,  and  if  he  had  cared  much 
about  family  blood,  could  no  doubt  have 
traced  it  back  to  Drumclog  or  Bothwell 
Bridge.  He  said,  "I  came  in  to-night  to 
welcome  you  as  a  minister  of  the  New  Cove- 
nant. Do  not  know  much  about  you.  What 
catechism  did  you  stoody  ?  "  "Westmin- 
ster!" replied  the  clergyman.  "Praise 
God  for  that  !  "  said  the  Scotchman.  "  I 
think  you  must  belong  to  the  good  old  or- 
thodox, out-and-out  Calvinistic  school.  I 
must  be  going  home,  for  it  is  nine  o'clock, 
and  I  never  allow  the  children  to  go 
to  bed  until  I  have  sung  with  them  a 
Psalm  of  David.  Do  not  like  to  suggest, 
but  if  parfactly  convainiant,   give  us  next 


122  Capital  Stories 

Sabbath  a  solid  sermon  about  the  eternal 
decrees.  Suppose  you  have  n-^ad  *  McCosli 
on  the  Divine  Government.'  Do  not  think 
anything  surpasses  that,  unless  it  be  *  Ed- 
wards on  the  Will.'  Good-night!"  he 
said  as  he  picked  up  his  hat,  which  he  had 
persisted  in  setting  on  the  floor  beside  him. 
"  Hope  we  will  meet  often  in  this  world, 
and  in  the  next ;  we  most  certainly  will  if 
we  have  been  elected.  Good-night !  I  will 
stand  by  you  as  long  as  I  find  you  contend- 
ing earnestly  for  the  faith  once  delivered  to 
the  saints."  And  without  bowing  to  the 
rest  he  started  through  the  hall,  and  began 
to  rattle  the  front  door,  and  shouted, 
"  Here,  somebody  !  open  this  door  !  Hope 
we  shall  not  have  as  much  trouble  in  get- 
ting open  the  door  of  heaven  !  " 

Mrs.  Durbin  was  present  that  evening. 
She  was  alwa5'S  present  when  pleasant  words 
were  to  be  uttered,  or  kind  deeds  done.  She 
was  a,ny  minister's  blessing.  If  the  pastor 
had  a  cough,  she  would  come  right  into  his 
house,  only  half  knocking,  and  in  the 
kitchen,  over  the  hot  stove,  she  would  stand 
mixing  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things  to  take. 
From  her  table  often  came  in  a  plate  of  bis- 
cuit, or  a  bowl  of  berries  already  sugared. 
If  the  pulpit  must  be  upholstered,  she  was 
head  of  the  committee.  If  money  was  to  be 
raised  for  a  musical  instrument,  she  begged 
it,  no  man  saying  na3%  even  if  he  could  ill 
afford  to  contribute.  ^  Everj'body  liked  her. 


By  America7i  Authors.  123 

Kverybody  blessed  her.  She  stepped  quick  ; 
had  a  laugh  that  was  catching  ;  knew  all 
the  sick ;  had  her  pocket  full  of  nuts  and 
picture-books.  When  she  went  through 
the  poorer  parts  of  the  village,  the  little 
ragamuffins,  white  and  black,  would  come 
out  and  say,  "  Here  comes  Mrs.  Dur- 
bin  !  " 

But  do  not  fall  in  love  with  Mrs.  Durbin, 
for  she  was  married.  Her  husband  was  a 
man  of  the  world,  took  things  easy,  let  his 
wife  go  to  church  as  much  as  she  desired, 
if  she  would  not  bother  him  with  her  re- 
ligion, gave  her  as  much  money  as  she 
wanted,  but  teased  her  unmercifully  about 
the  poor  urchins  who  followed  her  in  the 
street,  and  used  to  say,  "My  dear!  have 
you  found  out  any  new  Lazarus?  I  am 
afraid  you  will  get  the  small-pox  if  you 
don't  stop  carrying  victuals  into  those  nigger 
shanties  !" 

Mrs.  Durbin  talked  rapidly  that  night, 
but  mostly  to  the  pastor's  wife.  Was  over- 
heard to  be  laying  plans  for  a  ride  to  the 
Falls.  Hoped  that  the  minister  would  not 
work  too  hard  at  the  start.  Told  him  that 
after  he  got  rested  he  might  go  and  visit  a 
family  near  by  who  were  greatly  distressed, 
and  wanted  a  minister  to  pray  with  them. 
As  she  rose  to  go,  she  said,  "If  you  need 
anything  at  all,  be  at  perfect  liberty  to 
send. ' '  Her  husband  arose  at  the  same  time. 
He  had  not  said  a  word,  and  felt  a  little 


124  Capital  Stories 

awkward  in  the  presence  of  so  many  church- 
people.  But  he  came  up  and  took  the 
minister's  hand,  and  said,  ' '  Call  and  see  us  ! 
I  am  not  a  church-man,  as  you  will  soon 
find  out.  I  hardly  ever  go  to  church,  ex- 
cept on  Thanksgiving  Days,  or  now  and 
then  when  the  notion  takes  me.  Still,  I 
have  a  good  horse.  Anybody  can  drive  him, 
and  he  is  any  time  at  your  disposal.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  just  to  get  in  and  take  up 
the  ribbons.  M}"  wife  takes  care  of  the  re- 
ligion, and  I  mind  the  horses.  She  has 
what  our  college-bred  Joe  calls  the  *  Suaviter 
iyiviodo,'  and  I  have  the  '  For  titer  in  re.^ 
Good-b^^e  !  Take  care  of  yourself !  ' ' 

Elder  Lucas  was  there  ;  a  man  of  fifty. 
His  great  characteristic  was,  that  he  never 
said  anything,  but  alwaj^s  acted.  Never  ex- 
horted or  prayed  in  public  :  only  listened. 
One  time  at  the  church-meeting,  called  for 
the  purpose  of  increasing  the  minister's 
salar>%  where  Robert  Cruikshank  spoke 
four  times  in  favorof  the  project,  and  after- 
ward subscribed  one  dollar  ;  Lucas  was 
still,  but  subscribed  fifty  dollars.  On  the 
evening  of  which  we  chiefly  write,  he  sat 
silently  looking  at  his  new  pastor.  Those 
who  thought  he  felt  nothing  were  greatly 
mistaken.  He  was  all  kindness  and  love. 
Much  of  the  time  there  were  emotional  tears 
in  his  eyes,  but  few  saw  them,  for  he  had  a 
sly  habit  of  looking  the  other  way  till  they 
dried  up,   or  if  they  continued  to   run  he 


By  America7i  Authors.  125 

would  rub  his  handkerchief  across  his  nose, 
allowing  it  accidentally  to  slip  up  to  the 
corner  of  his  eyes,  and  so  nothing  of  emo- 
tion was  suspected.  He  never  offered  to  do 
anything,  but  always  did  it.  He  never 
promised  to  send  a  carriage  to  take  his 
minister  a  riding,  but  often  sent  it.  Never 
gave  notice  two  weeks  before  of  an  intended 
barrel  of  flour.  But  it  was,  without  any 
warning,  rolled  into  the  back  entry.  He  did 
not  some  day  in  front  of  the  church,  in  the 
presence  of  half  the  congregation,  tell  the 
minister  that  he  meant  to  give  him  a  suit  of 
clothes,  but  slyly  found  out  who  was  the 
clergyman's  tailor,  and  then  by  a  former 
measurement  had  the  garments  made  and 
sent  up  on  Saturday  night  with  his  compli- 
ments, for  two  weeks  keeping  out  of  the 
way  for  fear  the  minister  would  thank  him. 

When  Elder  Lucas  left  that  evening,  he 
came  up,  and  without  saying  a  word,  gave 
the  minister  a  quick  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
over  forehead,  cheek  and  hands  of  the  bash- 
ful man  passed  a  succession  of  blushes. 

But  the  life  of  the  little  company  that 
night  was  Harry  Bronson.  Probably  in  no 
other  man  was  there  ever  compressed  more 
vivacity  of  nature.  He  was  a  wonderful 
compound  of  mirthfulness  and  piety.  Old 
men  always  took  his  hand  with  affection, 
and  children  ran  wild  when  they  saw  him. 
On  Sunday  he  prayed  like  a  minister,  but 
on  Monday,  among  the  boys,  he  could  jump 


126  Capital  Stories 

the  highest,  run  the  swiftest,  shout  the 
loudest,  bat  the  truest,  and  turn  somersault 
the  easiest.  Indeed,  there  were  in  the 
church  two  or  three  awful- visaged  people 
who  thought  that  Harr}^  Bronson  ought  to 
be  disciplined,  and  that  santification  was 
never  accompanied  by  kicking  up  of  the 
heels.  They  remonstrated  with  him,  but 
before  he  got  out  of  sight,  and  w^hile  they 
were  3^et  praying  for  the  good  effect  of  their 
admonition,  he  put  his  hand  on  the  top  of 
the  fence,  and,  without  touching,  leaped 
over,  not  because  there  w^as  any  need  of 
crossing  the  fence,  for,  showing  that  he  w^as 
actuated  by  nothing  but  worldUness  and 
frivolity,  he  put  his  hand  on  the  top  of  the 
rail  and  leaped  back  again.  If  there  was 
anything  funny,  he  was  sure  to  see  it,  and 
had  a  way  of  striking  attitudes,  and  imitat- 
ing peculiar  intonations,  and  walked  some- 
times on  his  toes,  and  sometimes  on  his 
heels,  till  one  evening  at  church,  one  of 
the  brethren  with  a  religion  made  up  of 
equal  portions  of  sour-krout,  mustard  and 
red  pepper,  prayed  right  at  him,  saying, 
' '  If  there  is  any  brother  present  who  does 
not  walk  as  he  should,  we  pra}^  Thee  that 
Thou  wouldst  do  with  him  as  Thou  didst 
with  Sennacherib  of  old,  and  put  a  hook  in 
his  nose  and  turn  him  back  ! ' '  To  which 
prayer  Harry  Bronson  responded,  '  'Amen  ! ' ' 
never  supposing  that  the  hook  was  meant 
for    his    own     nose.      The    reprimanding 


By  American  Authors.  127 

brother  finding  his  prayer  ineffectual,  and 
that  the  Lord  was  unwilling  to  take  Harry 
in  His  hands,  resolved  to  attend  to  the  case 
himself,  and  the  second  time  proposed  to 
undertake  the  work  of  admonition,  not  in 
beseeching  terras  as  before,  but  with  a  fiery 
indignation  that  would  either  be,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  a  savor  of  life  unto  life,  or  of 
death  unto  death.  But  entering  Harry 
Bronson's  house  that  evening,  he  found  him 
on  his  hands  and  knees  playing  ''Bear" 
with  his  children,  and  cutting  such  a  ludi- 
crous figure,  that  the  lachrymose  Elder  for 
once  lost  his  gravity,  and  joined  in  the 
merriment  with  such  a  full  gush  of  laughter 
that  he  did  not  feel  it  would  be  consistent  to 
undertake  his  mission,  since  the  facetious 
Harry  might  turn  on  him  and  say,  "  Phy- 
sician !  heal  thyself!  " 

That  night  at  the  minister's  welcome 
Harry  was  in  full  glee.  The  first  grasp  he 
gave  on  entering  the  room,  and  the  words  of 
greeting  that  he  offered,  and  the  whole- 
souled,  mtense  manner  with  which  he  con- 
fronted the  young  clergyman,  showed  him 
to  be  one  of  those  earnest,  active,  intelligent, 
loving  and  lovable  Christian  men,  who  is  a 
treasure  to  any  pastor. 

He  had  a  story  for  every  turn  of  the  eve- 
ning's entertainment,  and  took  all  the  spare 
room  in  the  parlor  to  tell  it.  The  gravest 
men  in  the  party  would  take  a  joke  from 
him.     When  MacMillan  asked  the  minister 


1 28  Capital  Stories 

about  his  choice  of  catechism,  Harry  ven- 
tured the  opinion  that  he  thought  "  Brown's 
Shorter ' '  good  enough  for  anybody.  '  *  Ah  ! ' ' 
said  MacMillan,  "  Harr}^  you  rogue,  stop 
that  joking  !  "  When  Mr.  Bromlette  offered 
his  carraige,  Bronson  offered  to  loan  a 
wheel-barrow.  He  asked  Mrs.  Durbiu  if 
she  wanted  an}^  more  combs  or  castile  soap 
for  her  mission  on  Dirt  Alle}^  He  almost 
drew  into  conversation  the  silent  Mr.  Lucas 
asking  a  strange  question,  and  because  Lu- 
cas, through  embarrassment,  made  no  re- 
sponse, saying,  "Silence  gives  consent!" 
Was  full  of  narratives  about  weddings,  and 
general  trainings,  and  parish  meetings. 
Stayed  till  all  the  rest  w^ere  gone,  for  he 
never  w^as  talked  out. 

"  Well,  wtU  !  "  said  two  of  the  party  that 
night  as  they  shut  the  front  door  ;  "we  will 
have  to  tell  Harry  Bronson  to  serve  God  in 
his  own  w^a}^"  I  guess  there  may  some- 
times be  as  much  religion  in  laughing  as  in 
crying.  We  cannot  make  such  a  man  as 
that  keep  step  to  a  "  Dead  March. ' '  I  think 
the  dew  of  grace  may  fall  just  as  certainly 
on  a  grotesque  cactus  as  a  precise  primrose. 
Indeed,  the  jubilant  palm-tree  bears  fruit, 
while  the  weeping-willow  throws  its  worth- 
less catkins  into  the  brook. 

The  first  Sunday  came.  The  congre- 
gation gathered  early.  The  brownstone 
church  was  a  beautiful  structure,  within  and 


By  Ame7'ica7i  Authors.  129 

without.  An  adjacent  quarry  had  furnished 
the  material  and  the  architect  and  builder, 
who  were  men  of  taste,  had  not  been  inter- 
fered with.  A  few  creeping  vines  had  been 
planted  at  the  front  and  side,  and  a  white 
rose-bush  stood  at  the  door,  flinging  its  fra- 
grance across  the  yard.  Many  had  gone  in 
and  taken  their  seats,  but  others  had  stayed 
at  the  door  to  w^atch  the  coming  of  the  new 
minister  and  his  bride.  She  is  gone  now, 
and  it  is  no  flattery  to  write  that  she  was  fair 
to  look  upon,  delicate  in  structure  of  body, 
eye  large  and  blue,  hair  in  which  was 
folded  the  shadows  of  midnight,  erect  car- 
raige,  but  quite  small.  She  was  such  a  one 
as  you  could'pick  up  and  carry  over  a  stream 
with  one  arm.  She  had  a  sweet  voice,  and 
had  stood  several  3^ears  in  the  choir  of  the 
city  churches,  and  had  withal  a  magic  of 
presence  that  had  turned  all  whom  she  ever 
met  into  warm  personal  admirers.  Her 
hand  trembled  on  her  husband's  arm  as 
that  day  they  went  up  the  steps  of  the 
meeting  house,  gazed  at  intently  by  young 
and  old.  The  pastor  looked  paler  even  than 
was  his  wont.  His  voice  quavered  in  read- 
ing the  hymn,  and  he  looked  confused  in 
making  the  publications.  That  day,  a 
mother  had  brought  her  child  for  baptism, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  officiated  in  that 
ceremony.  Had  hard  work  to  remember 
the  words,  and  knew  not  what  to  do  next. 
When  he  came  to  preach,  in  his  excitement 


130  Capital  Stories 

he  could  not  find  his  sermon.  It  had  fallen 
back  of  the  sofa.  Looked  up  and  down, 
and  forward  and  backward.  Fished  it  out 
at  last,  just  in  time  to  come  up,  flushed  and 
hot  to  read  the  text.  Made  a  very  feeble 
attempt  at  preaching.  But  all  were  read}^  to 
hear  his  words.  The  3'oung  sympathized 
w4th  him,  for  he  was  3'oung.  And  the  old 
looked  on  him  with  a  sort  of  paternal  indul- 
gence. At  the  few  words  in  which  he  com- 
mended himself  and  his  to  their  sympathy 
and  care,  they  broke  forth  into  weeping. 
And  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit,  at  the  close 
of  service,  the  people  gathered,  poor  and 
rich,  to  offer  their  right  hand. 

MacMillan  the  Scotchman  said,  "Young 
man  !  that's  the  right  doctrine ;  the  same 
that  Dr.  Duncan  taught  me  forty  3'ears  ago 
at  the  kirk  in  the  glen  !"  Mr.  Bromlette 
came  up,  and  introduced  to  the  young  min- 
ister a  young  man  who  was  a  baronet,  and 
a  lady  w^ho  was  somehow  related  to  the 
Astors.  Harry  Bronson  took  his  pastor  by 
the  hand,  and  said,  "That  sermon  w^ent 
right  to  the  spot.  Glad  3'OU  found  it.  Was 
afraid  3'ou  would  never  fish  it  out  from  be- 
hind that  sofa.  When  I  saw  you  on  all-fours, 
looking  it  up,  thought  I  should  burst." 
Lucas,  with  his  eyes  red  as  a  half-hour  of 
crj^ing  could  make  them,  took  the  minister's 
hand,  but  said  nothing,  onl}^  looked  more 
thanks  and  kindness  than  words  could  have 
expressed.     Mr.    Durbin   said,    ''How   are 


By  Americmi  Authors.  131 

you  ?  Broke  in  on  my  rule  to-day  and  came 
to  church.  Little  curious,  you  see.  Did 
not  believe  it  quite  all,  but  that  will  do. 
Glad  you  gave  it  to  those  Christians.  Saw 
them  wince  under  it !  "  Mrs.  Durbin  was 
meanwhile  employed  in  introducing  the 
bride  to  the  people  at  the  door  who  were  a 
little  backward.  Begged  them  to  come  up. 
Drew  up  an  array  of  four  or  five  children 
that  she  had  clothed  and  brought  out  of  the 
shanties  to  attend  church.  Said,  "  This  is 
Bridget  Maloy,  and  that  Ellen  Haggerty. 
Good  girls  they  are,  too,  and  like  to  come 
to  church  !" 

For  a  long  while  the  hand-shakings  con- 
tinued, and  some  who  could  not  get  confi- 
dence to  even  wait  at  the  door,  stretched 
their  hands  out  from  the  covered  wagon, 
and  gave  a  pleasant  "  How  do  you  do?"  or 
**  God  blCvSS  you,"  till  the  minister  and  his 
wife  agreed  that  their  happiness  was  full, 
and  went  home,  sajdng,  ' '  This,  indeed,  is 
Minister's  Sunshine  !" 

The  parsonage  was  only  a  little  distance 
off,  but  the  pastor  had  nothing  with  which 
to  furnish  it.  The  grass  was  long,  and 
needed  to  be  cut,  and  the  weeds  were  cover- 
ing the  garden.  On  Monday  morning  the 
pastor  and  his  wife  were  saying  what  a 
pity  it  was  that  they  were  not  able  to  take 
immediate  possession.  They  could  be  so 
happy  in  such  a  cozy  place.  Never  mind. 
They  would  out  of  the  first  year's  salary 


132  Capital  Stories 

save  enough  to  warrant  going  to  house- 
keeping. 

That  afternoon  the  sewing  societ}^  met. 
That  societ}^  never  disgraced  itself  with 
gossip.  They  were  good  women,  and  met 
together,  sometimes  to  sew  for  the  destitute 
of  the  village,  and  sometimes  to  send  gar- 
ments to  the  suffering  home  missionaries. 
For  two  hours  their  needles  would  fly,  and 
then  off  for  home,  better  for  their  phil- 
anthropic labors.  But  that  afternoon  the 
ladies  stood  round  the  room  in  knots,  a-whis- 
pering.  Could  it  be  that  the  society  was 
losing  its  good  name,  and  was  becoming  a 
school  of  scandal  ?  That  could  not  be,  for 
Mrs.  Durbin  seemed  the  most  active  in  the 
company',  and  Mrs.  Durbin  was  always 
right. 

Next  morning,  while  the  minister  and  his 
wife  were  talking  over  the  secrecy  of  con- 
versation at  the  sewing-circle,  Harry  Bron- 
son  came  in  and  asked  the  young  pastor  if 
he  was  not  weary  with  last  Sunday's  work. 
He  answered,  "  No  !  "  "Well,"  suggested 
Hany^  "  I  think  you  had  better  take  a  few 
days'  rest  anyhow.  Go  off  and  see  your 
friends.  My  carriage  will,  in  about  an  hour, 
go  to  the  cars,  and  I  will  meet  you  on  Sat- 
urday night.  Think  it  will  do  3'ou  both 
good." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  minister,  while 
aside  consulting  with  his  wife,  "  what  does 
this  mean  ?     Are  thev  tired  of  us  so  soon  ? 


By  American  Authors.  133 

Is  this  any  result  of  yesterday's  whispering  ? 
But  they  make  the  suggestion,  and  I  shall 
take  it."  So  that  Tuesday  evening  found 
them  walking  the  streets  of  the  neighboring 
city,  wondering  what  all  this  meant.  Sat- 
urday came,  and  on  the  arrival  of  the  after- 
noon train  Harry  Bronson  was  ready  to  meet 
the  young  parson  and  his  wife.  They  rode 
up  to  the  place  of  their  previous  entertain- 
ment. After  tea,  Bronson  said  :  '*  We  have 
been  making  a  little  alteration  at  the  par- 
sonage since  you  were  gone. "  * '  Have 
you?'*  exclaimed  the  minister.  **Come, 
my  dear  !  let  us  go  up  and  see  !  "  As  they 
passed  up  the  steps  of  the  old  parsonage, 
the  roses  and  the  lilacs  on  either  side  swung 
in  the  evening  air.  The  river  in  front  glowed 
under  the  long  row  of  willows,  and  parties 
of  villagers  in  white  passed  by  in  the  rocking 
boat,  singing  '' Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave." 
It  was  just  before  sunset,  and  what  with  the 
perfume,  and  the  roseate  clouds,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  maples,  and  the  romance  o! 
a  thousand  dawning  expectations — it  was 
an  evening  never  to  be  forgotten.  Its 
flowers  will  never  close.  Its  clouds  will 
never  melt.  Its  waters  will  never  lose  their 
sheen.     Its  aroma  will  never  float  away. 

The  key  was  thrust  into  the  door  and  it 
swung  open.  "What  does  this  mean?" 
they  both  cried  out  at  the  same  time. 
*  *  Who  put  down  this  carpet,  and  set  here 
these   chairs,  and  hung  this  hall  lamp?" 


134  Capital  Stories 

They  stood  as  if  transfixed.  It  was  no 
shabby  carpet,  but  one  that  showed  that 
many  dollars  had  been  expended,  and  much 
taste  employed,  and  much  effort  exerted. 
They  opened  the  parlor  door,  and  there  they 
all  stood — sofa,  and  whatnot,  and  chair,  and 
stand,  and  mantel  ornament,  and  picture. 
They  went  upstairs,  and  every  room  was 
furnished  ;  beds  with  beautiful  white  coun- 
terpanes, and  vases  filled  with  flowers,  and 
walls  hung  with  engravings.  Everything 
complete. 

These  surprised  people  came  downstairs 
to  the  pantry.  Found  boxes  of  sugar,  bags 
of  salt,  cansof  preserv^es,  packages  of  spices, 
bins  of  flour,  loaves  of  bread.  Went  to  the 
basement,  and  found  pails,  baskets,  dippers, 
cups,  saucers,  plates,  forks,  knives,  spoons, 
strainers,  bowls,  pitchers,  tubs,  and  a  huge 
stove  filled  with  fuel,  and  a  lucifer  match 
lying  on  the  lid  ;  so  that  all  the  young  mar- 
ried pair  would  have  to  do  in  going  to 
housekeeping,  would  be  to  strike  the  match 
and  apply  it  to  the  shavings.  In  the  study, 
adorned  with  lounge  and  flowers,  and  on  the 
table,  covered  with  bright  green  baize,  lay 
an  envelope  enclosing  a  card,  on  which 
was  written  :  "  Please  accept  from  a  few 
friends. ' ' 

Had  Aladdin  been  around  with  his  lamp  ? 
Was  this  a  vision  such  as  comes  to  one 
about  half  awake  on  a  sunshiny  morning  ? 
They   sat    down,    weak  and    tearful    from 


By  American  Authors.  135 

surprise,  thanked  God,  blessed  Mrs.  Durbin, 
knew  that  Mr.  Bromlette's  purse  had  been 
busy,  felt  that  silent  Mr.  Lucas  had  at  last 
spoken,  realized  that  Harry  Bronson  had 
been  perpetrating  a  practical  joke,  were  cer- 
tain that  MacMillan  had  at  last  been  brought 
to  believe  a  little  in  ' '  works, ' '  and  exclaimed, 
' '  Verily,  this  is  Ministers'  Sunshine  !  ' '  and 
as  the  slanting  rays  of  the  setting  day  struck 
the  porcelain  pitcher,  and  printed  another 
figure  on  the  carpet,  and  threw  its  gold  on 
the  cushion  of  the  easy-chair,  it  seemed  as 
if  everything  within,  and  everything 
around,  and  everything  above,  responded, 
"  Ministers'  Sunshine  !  " 

The  fact  was,  that  during  the  absence  of 
the  new  pastor  that  week,  the  whole  village 
had  been  topsy-turvy  with  excitement. 
People  standing  together  in  knots,  others 
running  in  and  out  of  doors  ;  the  hunting 
up  of  measuring-rods  ;  the  running  around 
of  committees  w^th  everything  to  do,  and  so 
little  time  in  which  to  do  it.  Somebody  had 
proposed  a  very  cheap  furnishing  of  the 
house,  but  Mr.  Bromlette  said  :  "  This  will 
never  do.  How  can  we  prosper,  if,  living 
in  fine  houses  ourselves,  we  let  our  minister 
go  half  cared  for  ?  The  sheep  shall  not  be 
better  off  than  the  shepherd  ! ' '  and  down 
went  his  name  on  the  subscription  with  a 
liberal  sum. 

MacMillan  said,  "  I  am  in  favor  of  taking 
care  of  the  Lord's  anointed.  And  this  young 


136  Capital  Stories 

minister  of  the  everlasting  gospel  hinted 
that  he  believed  in  the  perseverance  of  the 
saints,  and  other  cardinal  doctrines,  and 
you  may  put  me  down  for  so  much,  and  that 
is  twice  what  I  can  afford  to  give,  but  we 
must  have  faith,  and  make  sacrifices  for  the 
kingdom  of  God's  sake." 

While  others  had  this  suggestion  about 
the  window  shades,  and  that  one  a  prefer- 
ence about  the  figure  of  the  carpets,  and 
another  one  said  he  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  unless  it  were  thus  and  so,  quiet 
Mr.  Lucas  said  nothing,  and  some  of  the 
people  feared  he  would  not  help  in  the  en- 
terprise. But  when  the  subscription  paper 
w^as  handed  to  him,  he  looked  it  over, 
thought  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  set 
down  a  sum  that  was  about  twice  as  much 
as  any  of  the  other  contributions.  Worldly 
Mr.  Durbin  said  at  the  start :  "  I  will  give 
nothing.  There  is  no  use  of  making  such  a 
fuss  over  a  minister.  You  will  spoil  him  at 
the  start.  Let  him  fight  his  own  way  up, 
as  the  rest  of  us  have  had  to  do.  Delia  (that 
w^as  his  wife's  name),  nobody  furnished  our 
house  when  we  started. ' '  But  Mrs.  Durbin, 
as  was  expected,  stood  in  front  of  the  enter- 
prise. If  there  w^as  a  stingy  fellow  to  be 
approached,  she  was  sent  to  get  the  money 
out  of  him,  and  always  succeeded.  She  had 
been  so  used  to  begging  for  the  poor  of  the 
back  street,  that  when  any  of  the  farmers 
found  her  coming  up  the  lane,  the}^  would 


By  American  Authors.  137 

shout :  "Well,  Mrs.  Durbin,  how  much  will 
satisfy  you  to-day  ?  ' '  She  was  on  the  com- 
mittee that  selected  the  carpets.  While 
others  were  waiting  for  the  men  to  come  and 
hang  up  the  window  shades, she  mounted  a 
table  and  hung  four  of  them.  Some  of  the 
hardest  workers  in  the  undertaking  were 
ready  to  do  anything  but  tack  down  carpets. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  *'  that  is  just  what  I  am 
willing  to  do  ;  "  and  so  down  she  went, 
pulling  until  red  in  the  face  to  make  the 
breadths  match,  and  pounding  her  finger 
till  the  blood  started  under  the  nail,  in  trying 
to  make  a  crooked  tack  do  its  duty.  One 
evening  her  husband  drove  up  in  front  of 
the  parsonage  with  a  handsome  bookcase. 
Said  he  had  come  across  it,  and  had  bought 
it  to  please  his  wife,  not  because  he  approved 
of  all  this  fuss  over  a  minister,  who  might 
turn  out  well,  and  might  not.  The  next 
morning  there  came  three  tons  of  coal  that 
he  had  ordered  to  be  put  in  the  cellar  of  the 
parsonage.  And  though  Durbin  never  ac- 
knowledged to  his  wife  any  satisfaction  in 
the  movement,  he  every  night  asked  all 
about  how  affairs  were  getting  on,  and  it 
was  found  at  last  that  he  had  been  among: 
the  most  liberal. 

Harry  Bronson  had  been  all  around  during: 
the  week.  He  had  a  cheerful  word  for  ever>^ 
perplexity.  Put  his  hand  deep  down  in  his 
own  pocket.  Cracked  j  okes  over  the  cracked 
crockery.     Sent  up  some  pictures,  such  as 


138  Capital  Stories 

"The  Sleigh-riding  Party,"  "Ball  Play- 
ing," and  "  Bo3^s  Coasting."  Knocked  off 
Lucas'  hat,  and  pretended  to  know  nothing 
about  it.  SHpped  on  purpose,  and  tumbled 
into  the  lap  of  the  committee.  Went  up 
stairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  came  down 
astride  the  banisters.  At  his  antics  some 
smiled,  some  smirked,  some  tittered,  some 
chuckled,  some  laughed  through  the  nose, 
some  shouted  outright,  and  all  that  week 
Harry  Bronson  kept  the  parsonage  roaring 
with  laughter.  Yet  once  in  a  while  you 
w^ould  find  him  seated  in  the  corner,  talking 
with  some  old  mother  in  Israel,  who  was 
telling  him  all  her  griefs,  and  he  offering  the 
consolations  of  religion.  "Just  look  at 
Bronson!"  said  some  one.  "What  a 
strange  conglomeration  !  There  he  is  cry- 
ing with  that  old  lady  in  a  corner.  You 
would  not  think  he  had  ever  smiled.  This 
truly  is  weeping  with  those  who  weep,  and 
laughing  with  those  who  laugh.  Bronson 
seems  to  carry  in  his  heart  all  the  joys  and 
griefs  of  this  village." 

It  was  five  o'clock  of  Saturday  afternoon, 
one  hour  before  the  minister  was  expected, 
that  the  work  was  completed,  entry  swept 
out,  the  pieces  of  string  picked  up,  shades 
drawn  dowm,  and  the  door  of  the  parsonage 
locked.  As  these  church-w^orkers  went 
down  the  street,  their  backs  ached,  and  their 
fingers  were  sore,  but  their  hearts  were  light, 
and   their  countenances   happy,   and  every 


By  Avierica7i  Authors.  139 

step  of  the  way  from  the  parsonage  door  to 
their  own  gate  the}^  saw  scattered  on  the 
graveled  sidewalk,  and  y^rd- grass,  and 
door-step,  broad  flecks  of  Ministers'  Sun- 
shine ! 

But  two  or  three  days  had  passed,  and 
the  3'oung  married  couple  took  possession  of 
their  new  house.  It  was  afternoon,  and  the 
tea-table  was  to  be  spread  for  the  first  time. 
It  seemed  as  if  every  garden  in  the  village 
had  sent  its  greeting  to  that  tea-table. 
Bouquets  from  one,  and  strawberries  from 
another,  and  radishes,  and  bread,  and  cake, 
and  grass-butter  with  figure  of  wheat-sheaf 
printed  on  it.  The  silver  all  new,  that  which 
the  committee  had  left  added  to  the  bridal 
presents.  Only  two  sat  at  the  table,  yet  the 
room  seemed  crowded  with  emotions,  such 
as  attend  only  upon  the  first  meal  of  a  newly 
married  couple,  when  beginning  to  keep 
house.  The  past  sent  up  to  that  table  a 
thousand  tender  memories,  and  the  future 
hovered  with  wings  of  amber  and  gold. 
That  bread-breaking  partook  somewhat  of 
the  solemnity  of  a  sacrament.  There  was 
little  talk  and  much  silence.  They  lingered 
long  at  the  table,  spoke  of  the  crowning  of 
so  many  anticipations,  and  laid  out  plans  for 
the  great  future.  The  sun  had  not  yet  set. 
The  castor  glistened  in  it.  The  glasses 
glowed  in  the  red  light.  It  gave  a  roseate 
tinge  to  the  knives,  and  trembled  across  the 
cake-basket,  as  the  leaves  at  the  window 


140  Capital  Stories 

fluttered  in  the  evening  air  ;  and  the  twain 
continued  to  sit  there,  until  the  sun  had 
dropped  to  the  very  verge  of  the  horizon, 
and  with  nothing  to  intercept  its  blaze,  it 
poured  in  the  open  windows,  till  from  ceiling 
to  floor  and  from  wall  to  wall  the  room  was 
flooded  with  Ministers'  Sunshine. 

A  3^ear  passed  on,  and  the  first  cloud 
hovered  over  the  parsonage.  It  was  a  very- 
dark  cloud.  It  filled  the  air,  and  with  its 
long  black  folds  seemed  to  sweep  the  eaves 
of  the  parsonage.  Yet  it  parted,  and 
through  it  fell  as  bright  a  light  as  ever 
gilded  a  hearthstone.  The  next  day  all 
sorts  of  packages  arrived  ;  little  socks,  w^ith 
a  verse  of  poetry  stuck  in  each  one  of  them 
— socks  about  large  enough  for  a  small 
kitten  ;  and  a  comb  with  which  you  might 
imagine  Tom  Thumb's  wife  would  comb  his 
hair  for  him.  Mrs.  Durbin  was  there — 
indeed  had  been  there  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours.  Mr.  Bromlette  sent  up  his 
coachman  to  make  inquiries.  MacMillan 
called  to  express  his  hope  that  it  was  a  child 
of  the  "Covenant."  Lucas  came  up  the 
door-step  to  offer  his  congratulation,  but  had 
not  courage  to  rattle  the  knocker,  and  so 
went  away,  but  stopped  at  the  store  to  order 
up  a  box  of  farina.  Harry  Bronson  smiled 
all  the  way  to  the  parsonage,  and  smiled  all 
the  w^ay  back.  Meanwhile  the  light  within 
the  house  every  moment  grew  brighter. 
The  parson  hardly  dared  to  touch  the  little 


By  American  Authors.  141 

delicate  thing  for  fear  he  would  break  it ; 
and  walked  around  with  it  upon  a  pillow, 
wondering  what  it  would  do  next,  starting 
at  every  sneeze  or  cry,  for  fear  he  had  done 
some  irreparable  damage  ;  wondering  if  its 
foot  was  set  on  right,  and  if  with  that  pecu- 
liar formation  of  the  head  it  would  ever 
know  anything,  and  if  infantile  eyes  always 
looked  like  those.  The  wonder  grew,  till 
one  day  Durbin,  out  of  regard  for  his  wife, 
was  invited  to  see  the  little  stranger,  when 
he  declared  he  had  during  his  life  seen  fifty 
just  like  it,  and  said,  "Do  you  think  that 
worth  raising,  eh  ?  " 

All  came  to  see  it,  and  just  wanted  to  feel 
the  weight  of  it.  The  little  girls  of  the 
neighborhood  must  take  off  its  socks  to  ex- 
amine the  dimples  on  its  fat  feet.  And, 
although  not  old  enough  to  appreciate  it, 
there  came  directed  to  the  baby,  rings  and 
rattles,  and  pins,  and  bracelets,  and  gold 
pieces  with  a  string  through,  to  hang  about 
the  neck,  and  spoons  for  pap,  and  things  the 
use  of  which  the  parson  could  not  imagine. 
The  ladies  said  it  looked  like  its  father,  and 
the  gentlemen  exclaimed,  **How  much  it 
resembles  its  mother  ! ' '  All  sorts  of  names 
were  proposed,  some  from  novels  and  some 
from  Scripture.  MacMillan  thought  it 
ought  to  be  called  Deborah  or  Patience. 
Mr.  Bromlette  wished  it  called  Eugenia 
Van  Courtlandt.  Mrs.  Durbin  thought  it 
would  be  nice  to  name  it  Grace.     Harry 


142  Capital  Stories 

Bronson  thought  it  might  be  styled  Humpsy 
Dumpsy.  A  young  gentleman  suggested 
Felicia,  and  a  young  lady  thought  it  might 
be  Angelina.  When  Lucas  was  asked  what 
he  had  to  propose,  he  blushed,  and  after  a 
somewhat  protracted  silence,  answered, 
"Call  it  what  you  like.  Please  yourselves 
and  you  please  me. ' '  All  of  the  names  were 
tried  in  turn,  but  none  of  them  was  good 
enough.  So  a  temporary  name  must  be 
selected,  one  that  might  do  till  the  day  of 
the  christening.  The  first  day  the  pet  was 
carried  out  was  a  very  bright  da}^  the  sun 
was  high  up,  and  as  the  neighbors  rushed 
out  to  the  nurse,  and  lifted  the  veil  that  kept 
off  the  glare  of  the  light,  they  all  thought  it 
well  to  call  it  the  Ministers'  Sunshine. 

And  so  the  da^^s  and  the  months  and  the 
years  flew  by.  If  a  cloud  came  up,  as  on 
the  day  mentioned,  there  was  a  Hand  behind 
it  to  lift  the  heavy  folds.  If  there  was  a 
storm,  it  onl5^made  the  shrubs  sweeter,  and 
the  fields  greener.  If  a  winter  night  was 
filled  with  rain  and  tempest,  the  next  morn- 
ing all  the  trees  stood  up  in  burnished  mail 
of  ice,  casting  their  crowns  at  the  feet  of 
the  sun,  and  surrendering  their  gleaming 
swords  to  the  conqueror.  If  the  trees  lost 
their  blossoms,  it  was  to  put  on  the  mellow- 
ness of  fruit ;  and  when  the  fruit  was  scat- 
tered, autumnal  glories  set  up  in  the  tops 
their  flaming  torches.  And  when  the  leaves 
fell   it  was    only  through   death    to   come 


By  Ame7'ica7i  Authors.  143 

singing  in  the  next  spring-time,  when  the 
mellow  horn  of  the  south  wind  sounded  the 
resurrection.  If  in  the  chill  April  a  snow- 
bank lingered  in  the  yard,  they  were  apt  to 
find  a  crocus  at  the  foot  of  it.  If  an  early 
frost  touched  the  corn,  that  same  frost  un- 
locked the  burr  of  the  chestnut,  and  poured 
richer  blood  into  the  veins  of  the  Catawba. 
When  the  moon  set,  the  stars  came  out  to 
worship  and  counted  their  golden  beads  in 
the  Cathedral  of  the  Infinite. 

On  the  petunias  that  all  over  the  knoll 
shed  their  blood  for  the  glory  of  the  garden  ; 
on  the  honeysuckle  where  birds  rested,  and 
from  which  fountains  of  odor  tossed  their 
spray  ;  on  the  river,  where  by  day  the  barge 
floated,  and  by  night  the  moon-tipped  oars 
came  up  tangled  with  the  tinkling  jewels 
of  the  deep  ;  at  eventide  in  the  garden, 
where  God  walked  in  the  cool  of  the  day  ; 
by  the  minister's  hearth,  where  the  child 
watched  the  fall  of  the  embers,  and  con- 
genial spirits  talked,  and  ministering  angels 
hovered,  and  in  the  sounds  of  the  night-fall 
there  floated  the  voices  of  bright  immortals, 
bidding  the  two,  "Come  up  higher!" — 
there  was  calm,  clear  Ministers'  Sun- 
shine ! 


144  Capital  Stories 

MRS.  BULLFROG. 

BY   NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 

It  makes  me  melancholy  to  see  how  like 
fools  some  voxy  sensible  people  act  in  the 
matter  of  choosing  wives.  They  perplex 
their  judgments  by  a  most  undue  attention 
to  little  niceties  of  personal  appearance, 
habits,  disposition,  and  other  trifles  which 
concern  nobody  but  the  lady  herself.  An 
unhappy  gentleman,  resolving  to  wed  noth- 
ing short  of  perfection,  keeps  his  heart  and 
hand  till  both  get  so  old  and  withered  that 
no  tolerable  woman  will  accept  them.  Now, 
this  is  the  very  height  of  absurdity.  A 
kind  Providence  has  so  skillfully  adapted 
sex  to  sex  and  the  mass  of  individuals  to 
each  other  that,  with  certain  obvious  excep- 
tions, any  male  and  female  may  be  moder- 
ately happy  in  the  married  state.  The  true 
rule  is  to  ascertain  that  the  match  is  fimda- 
mentally  a  good  one,  and  then  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  all  minor  objections,  should 
there  be  such,  will  vanish  if  3'ou  let  them 
alone.  Onh^  put  yourself  beyond  hazard  as 
to  the  real  basis  of  matrimonial  bliss,  and 
it  is  scarcely  to  be  imagined  what  miracles 
in  the  way  of  reconciling  smaller  incongru- 
ities connubial  love  will  eflect. 

For  my  own  part,  I  freely  confess  that  in 
my  bachelorship  I  was  precisely  such  an 
over-curious  simpleton  as  I  now  advise  the 


I 


By  American  Authors,  145 

reader  not  to  be.  My  early  habits  had 
gifted  me  with  a  feminine  sensibility  and 
too  exquisite  refinement.  I  was  the  accom- 
plished graduate  of  a  dry-goods  store, 
where  by  dint  of  ministering  to  the  whims 
of  fine  ladies,  and  suiting  silken  hose  to 
delicate  limbs,  and  handling  satins,  ribbons, 
chintzes,  calicoes,  tapes,  gauze  and  cambric 
needles,  I  grew  up  a  very  ladylike  sort  of  a 
gentleman.  It  is  not  assuming  too  much 
to  affirm  that  the  ladies  themselves  w^ere 
hardly  so  ladylike  as  Thomas  Bullfrog.  So 
painfully  acute  was  my  sense  of  female 
imperfection,  and  such  varied  excellence  did 
I  require  in  the  woman  whom  I  could  love, 
that  there  was  an  awful  risk  of  my  getting 
no  wife  at  all,  or  of  being  driven  to  perpet- 
uate matrimony  with  my  own  image  in  the 
looking-glass.  Besides  the  fundamental 
principle  already  hinted  at,  I  demanded  the 
fresh  bloom  of  youth,  pearly  teeth,  glossy 
ringlets,  and  the  whole  list  of  lovely  items, 
with  the  utmost  delicacy  of  habits  and  sen- 
timents, a  silken  texture  of  mind,  and, 
above  all,  a  virgin  heart.  In  a  word,  if  a 
young  angel  just  from  Paradise,  yet  dressed 
in  earthly  fashion,  had  come  and  offered  me 
her  hand,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  I 
should  have  taken  it.  There  was  every 
chance  of  my  becoming  a  most  miserable 
old  bachelor,  when  by  the  best  luck  in  the 
world  I  made  a  journey  into  another  State 
and  was  smitten  by  and  smote  again,  and 


146  Capital  Stories 

wooed,  won  and  married  the  present  Mrs. 
Bullfrog,  all  in  the  space  of  a  fortnight. 
Owing  to  these  extempore  measures,  I  not 
only  gave  my  bride  credit  for  certain  per- 
fections which  have  not  as  yet  come  to  light, 
but  also  overlooked  a  few  trifling  defects, 
which,  however,  glimmered  on  my  percep- 
tion long  before  the  close  of  the  honeymoon. 
Yet,  as  there  was  no  mistake  about  the 
fundamental  principle  aforesaid,  I  soon 
learned,  as  will  be  seen,  to  estimate  Mrs. 
Bullfrog's  deficiencies  and  superfluities  at 
exactly  their  proper  value. 

The  same  morning  that  Mrs.  Bullfrog  and 
I  came  together  as  a  unit  we  took  two  seats 
in  the  stage-coach  and  began  our  journey 
toward  my  place  of  business.  There  being 
no  other  passengers,  we  were  as  much  alone 
and  as  free  to  give  vent  to  our  raptures  as 
if  I  had  hired  a  hack  for  the  matrimonial 
jaunt.  My  bride  looked  charmingly  in  a 
green  silk  calash  and  riding-habit  of  pelisse 
cloth  ;  and  whenever  her  red  lips  parted 
with  a  smile,  each  tooth  appeared  like  an 
inestimable  pearl.  Such  was  my  passionate 
warmth  that — we  had  rattled  out  of  the 
village,  gentle  reader,  and  were  as  lonely 
as  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise — I  plead 
guilty  to  no  less  freedom  than  a  kiss.  The 
gentle  ej-e  of  Mrs.  Bullfrog  scarcely  rebuked 
me  for  the  profanation.  Emboldened  by 
her  indulgence,  I  threw  back  the  calash 
from  her  polished  brow,   and  suffered   my 


By  Americaii  Authors.  147 

fingers,  white  and  delicate  as  her  own,  to 
stray  among  those  dark  and  glossy  curls 
which  realized  my  day-dreams  of  rich 
hair. 

"  My  love,"  said  Mrs.  Bullfrog  tenderly, 
**  you  will  disarrange  my  curls." 

"Oh,  no,  my  sweet  Laura,"  replied  I, 
still  playing  w4th  the  glossy  ringlet.  '  *  Even 
your  fair  hand  could  not  manage  a  curl 
more  delicately  than  mine.  I  propose  myself 
the  pleasure  of  doing  up  your  hair  in  papers 
every  evening  at  the  same  time  with  my 
own." 

"Mr.  Bullfrog,"  repeated  she,  "you  must 
not  disarrange  my  curls." 

This  was  spoken  in  a  more  decided  tone 
than  I  had  happened  to  hear  until  then  from 
my  gentlest  of  all  gentle  brides.  At  the 
same  time  she  put  up  her  hand  and  took 
mine  prisoner,  but  merely  drew  it  away  from 
the  forbidden  ringlet,  and  then  immediately 
released  it.  Now,  I  am  a  fidgety  little  man 
and  always  love  to  have  something  in  my 
fingers ;  so  that,  being  debarred  from  my 
wife's  curls,  I  looked  about  me  for  any  other 
plaything.  On  the  front  seat  of  the  coach 
there  was  one  of  those  small  baskets  in 
which  traveling  ladies  who  are  too  delicate 
to  appear  at  a  public  table  generally  carry  a 
supply  of  gingerbread,  biscuits  and  cheese, 
cold  ham,  and  other  light  refreshments, 
merely  to  sustain  nature  to  the  journey's 
end.     Such  airy  diet  will  sometimes  keep 


148  Capital  Stories 

them  in  pretty  good  flesh  for  a  week  to- 
gether. La3dng  hold  of  this  same  little 
basket,  I  thrust  my  hand  under  the  news- 
paper with  which  it  was  carefully  covered. 

"  What's  this,  my  dear?  "  cried  I,  for  the 
black  neck  of  a  bottle  had  popped  out  of 
the  basket. 

"A  bottle  of  Kalydor,  Mr.  Bullfrog,'* 
said  my  wife,  coolly  taking  the  basket  from 
my  hands  and  replacing  it  on  the  front  seat. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  doubting  my 
wife's  word,  but  I  never  knew  genuine 
Kalydor  such  as  I  use  for  my  own  complex- 
ion to  smell  so  much  like  cherry  brandy.  I 
was  about  to  express  my  fears  that  the  lotion 
would  injure  her  skin,  when  an  accident  oc- 
curred which  threatened  more  than  a  skin- 
deep  injury.  Our  Jehu  had  carelessly  driven 
over  a  heap  of  gravel  and  fairly  capsized 
the  coach,  with  the  w^heels  in  the  air  and 
our  heels  where  our  heads  should  have  been. 
What  became  of  my  wits  I  cannot  imagine : 
they  have  always  had  a  perverse  trick  of 
deserting  me  just  when  they  were  most 
needed  ;  but  so  it  chanced  that  in  the  con- 
fusion of  our  overthrow  I  quite  forgot  that 
there  was  a  Mrs.  Bullfrog  in  the  world. 
Like  many  men's  w^ves,  the  good  lady 
served  her  husband  as  a  stepping-stone.  I 
had  scrambled  out  of  the  coach  and  w^as 
instinctively  settling  my  cravat,  when  some- 
body brushed  roughly  by  me,  and  I  heard  a 
smart  thwack  upon  the  coachman's  ear. 


By  American  Authors,  149 

' '  Take  that,  you  villain  ! ' '  cried  a 
strange,  hoarse  voice.  "You  have  ruined 
me,  you  blackguard  !  I  shall  never  be  the 
woman  I  have  been." 

And  then  came  a  second  thwack,  aimed 
at  the  driver's  other  ear,  but  which  missed 
it  and  hit  him  on  the  nose,  causing  a  terrible 
effusion  of  blood.  Now,  who  or  what  fear- 
ful apparition  was  inflicting  this  punishment 
on  the  poor  fellow  remained  an  impenetrable 
mystery  to  me.  The  blows  were  given  by 
a  person  of  grisly  aspect,  with  a  head  almost 
bald,  and  sunken  cheeks,  apparently  of  the 
feminine  gender,  though  hardly  to  be 
classed  in  the  gentler  sex.  There  being  no 
teeth  to  modulate  the  voice,  it  had  a  mum- 
bled fierceness — not  passionate,  but  stern — 
which  absolutely  made  me  quiver  like 
calves-foot  jelly.  Who  could  the  phantom 
be?  The  most  awful  circumstance  of  the 
affair  is  yet  to  be  told,  for  this  ogre — or 
whatever  it  was — had  a  riding-habit  like 
Mrs.  Bullfrog's,  and  also  a  green  silk  calash 
dangling  down  her  back  by  the  strings.  In 
my  terror  and  turmoil  of  mind  I  could  im- 
agine nothing  less  than  that  the  Old  Nick 
at  the  moment  of  our  overturn  had  annihi- 
lated my  wife  and  j  umped  into  her  petticoats. 
This  idea  seemed  the  more  probable  since  I 
could  nowhere  perceive  Mrs.  Bullfrog  alive, 
nor,  though  I  looked  very  sharp  about  the 
coach,  could  I  detect  any  traces  of  that  be- 
loved woman's  dead  body.     There   would 


150  Capital  Stories 

have  been  a  comfort  in  giving  her  Christian 
burial. 

*  *  Come,  sir  !  bestir  yourself !  Help  this 
rascal  to  set  up  the  coach,"  said  the  hob- 
goblin to  me  ;  then  with  a  terrific  screech  to 
three  countrymen  at  a  distance,  "  Here,  you 
fellows  !  Ain't  you  ashamed  to  stand  off 
w^hen  a  poor  w^oman  is  in  distress  ?  ' ' 

The  countrymen,  instead  of  fleeing  for 
their  lives,  came  running  at  full  speed,  and 
laid  hold  of  the  topsy-turvy  coach.  I  also, 
though  a  small-sized  man,  went  to  work 
like  a  son  of  Anak.  The  coachman,  too, 
with  the  blood  still  streaming  from  his  nose, 
tugged  and  toiled  most  manfully,  dreading, 
doubtless,  that  the  next  blow  might  break 
his  head.  And  yet,  bemauled  as  the  poor 
fellow  had  been,  he  seemed  to  glance  at  me 
with  an  e3'e  of  pity,  as  if  my  case  were  more 
deplorable  than  his.  But  I  cherished  a 
hope  that  all  would  turn  out  a  dream,  and 
seized  the  opportunity,  as  we  raised  the 
coach,  to  jam  two  of  my  fingers  under 
the  wheel,  trusting  that  the  pain  would 
waken  me. 

"Why,  here  we  are  all  right  again!'* 
exclaimed  a  sweet  voice,  behind, — "  Thank 
you  for  3^our  assistance,  gentlemen. — My 
dear  Mr.  Bullfrog,  how  you  perspire  !  Do 
let  me  wipe  your  face. — Don't  take  this 
little  accident  too  much  to  heart,  good 
driver.  We  ought  to  be  thankful  that  none 
of  our  necks  are  broken  ! ' ' 


By  Afnerican  Authors.  151 

* '  We  might  have  spared  one  neck  out 
of  the  three,"  muttered  the  driver,  rubbing 
his  ear  and  pulling  his  nose,  to  ascertain 
whether  he  had  been  cuffed  or  not.  '  *  Why , 
the  woman's  a  witch  !  " 

I  fear  that  the  reader  will  not  believe,  yet 
it  is  positively  a  fact,  that  there  stood  Mrs. 
Bullfrog  with  her  glossy  ringlets  curling 
on  her  brow  and  two  rows  of  Orient  pearls 
gleaming  between  her  parted  lips,  which 
wore  a  most  angelic  smile.  She  had  re- 
gained her  riding-habit  and  calash  from  the 
grisly  phantom,  and  was  in  all  respects  the 
lovely  woman  who  had  been  sitting  by  my 
side  at  the  instant  of  our  overturn.  How 
she  had  happened  to  disappear,  and  who 
had  supplied  her  place,  and  whence  she  did 
now  return,  were  problems  too  knotty  for 
me  to  solve.  There  stood  my  wife:  that 
was  the  one  thing  certain  among  a  heap  of 
mysteries.  Nothing  remained  but  to  help 
her  into  the  coach  and  plod  on  through  the 
journey  of  the  day  and  the  journey  of  life 
as  comfortably  as  we  could.  As  the  driver 
closed  the  door  upon  us  I  heard  him  whisper 
to  the  three  countrymen  : 

' '  How  do  you  suppose  a  fellow  feels  shut 
up  in  the  cage  with  a  she-tiger?  " 

Of  course  this  query  could  have  no  refer- 
ence to  my  situation  ;  yet,  unreasonable  as 
it  may  appear,  I  confess  that  my  feelings 
were  not  altogether  so  ecstatic  as  when  I 
first  called  Mrs.  Bullfrog  mine.     True,  she 


152  Capital  Stories 

was  a  sweet  woman  and  an  angel  of  a  wife  * 
but  what  if  a  gorgon  should  return  amid 
the  transports  of  our  connubial  bliss  and  take 
the  angel's  place!  I  recollected  the  tale  of 
a  fairy  who  half  the  time  was  a  beautiful 
woman  and  half  the  time  a  hideous  monster. 
Had  I  taken  that  very  fairy  to  be  the  wife 
of  my  bosom  ?  While  such  whims  and 
chimeras  were  flitting  across  my  fancy  I  be- 
gan to  look  askance  at  Mrs.  Bullfrog,  almost 
expecting  that  the  transformation  would  be 
wrought  before  my  eyes. 

To  divert  my  mind  I  took  up  the  news- 
paper which  had  covered  the  little  basket 
of  refreshments,  and  which  now  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  coach  blushing  with  a  deep 
red  stain,  and  emitting  a  potent  spirituous 
fume  from  the  contents  of  the  broken  bottle 
of  KalydoT.  The  paper  was  two  or  three 
years  old,  but  contained  an  article  of  several 
columns,  in  which  I  soon  grew  wonderfully 
interested.  It  w^as  the  report  of  a  trial  for 
breach  of  promise  of  marriage,  giving  the 
testimony  in  full,  with  fervid  extracts  from 
both  the  gentleman's  and  lady's  amatory 
correspondence.  The  deserted  damsel  had 
personally  appeared  in  court,  and  had  borne 
energetic  evidence  to  her  lover's  perfidy  and 
the  strength  of  her  blighted  affections.  On 
the  defendant's  part,  there  had  been  an  at- 
tempt, though  insufficiently  sustained,  to 
blast  the  plaintiff's  character,  and  a  plea,  in 
mitigation  of  damages,   on  account  of  her 


By  American  Authors.  153 

unamiable   temper.     A   horrible  idea   was 
suggested  by  the  lady's  name. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  holding  the  news- 
paper before  Mrs.  Bullfrog's  eyes — and, 
though  a  small,  delicate  and  thin-visaged 
man,  I  feel  assured  that  I  looked  very  ter- 
rific— "Madame,"  repeated  I,  through  my 
shut  teeth,  "were  you  the  plaintifi"  in  this 


cause 


"Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Bullfrog!"  replied 
my  wife,  sweetly  ;  "I  thought  all  the  world 
knew  that." 

* '  Horror  !  horror  ! ' '  exclaimed  I,  sinking 
back  on  the  seat. 

Covering  my  face  with  both  hands,  I 
emitted  a  deep  and  deathlike  groan,  as  if 
my  tormented  soul  were  rending  me  asunder. 
I,  the  most  exquisitely  fastidious  of  men, 
and  whose  wife  was  to  have  been  the  most 
delicate  and  refined  of  women,  with  all  the 
fresh  dewdrops  glittering  on  her  virgin  rose- 
bud of  a  heart  !  I  thought  of  the  glossy 
ringlets  and  pearly  teeth,  I  thought  of  the 
Kalydor,  I  thought  of  the  coachman's 
bruised  ear  and  bloody  nose,  I  thought  of 
the  tender  love-secrets  which  she  had  whis- 
pered to  the  judge  and  jury,  and  a  thousand 
tittering  auditors,  and  gave  another  groan. 

"  Mr.  Bullfrog  !  "  said  my  wife. 

As  I  made  no  reply,  she  gently  took  my 
hands  within  her  own,  removed  them  from 
my  face,  and  fixed  her  eyes  steadfastly  on 
mine. 


154  Capital  Stories 

"Mr.  Bullfrog,"  said  she,  not  unkindly, 
yet  with  all  the  decision  of  her  strong  char- 
acter, "  let  me  advise  3'ou  to  overcome  this 
foolish  weakness,  and  prove  yourself  to  the 
best  of  3^our  ability  as  good  a  husband  as  I 
will  be  a  wife.  You  have  discovered,  per- 
haps, some  little  imperfections  in  3^  our  bride. 
Well,  what  did  3'ou  expect?  Women  are  not 
angels ;  if  they  were,  they  would  go  to 
heaven  for  husbands — or,  at  least,  be  more 
difficult  in  their  choice  on  earth." 

"  But  why  conceal  those  imperfections  ?  " 
interposed  I,  tremulously. 

' '  Now,  m3"  love,  are  not  you  a  most  un- 
reasonable little  man  ?  ' '  said  Mrs.  Bullfrog, 
patting  me  on  the  cheek.  "Ought  a  woman 
to  disclose  her  frailties  earlier  than  the  wed- 
ding-day ?  Few  husbands,  I  assure  3'OU, 
make  the  discovery  in  such  good  season, 
and  still  fewer  complain  that  these  trifles 
are  concealed  too  long.  Well,  what  a 
strange  man  3^ou  are !  Poh  !  3^ou  are 
joking." 

"But  the  suit  for  breach  of  promise  !  " 
groaned  I. 

*  'Ah  !  and  is  that  the  rub  ? ' '  exclaimed 
my  wife.  "Is  it  possible  that  3'Ou  view 
that  affair  in  an  objectionable  light?  Mr. 
Bullfrog,  I  never  could  have  dreamed  it. 
Is  it  an  objection  that  I  have  triumphantly 
defended  m3\self  against  slander,  and  vin- 
dicated m3'  name  in  a  court  of  justice  ?  Or 
do   3'ou   complain   because   your   wife   has 


By  American  Authors.  155 

shown  [the  proper  spirit  of  a  woman,  and 
punished  the  villain  who  trifled  with  her 
affections  ? ' ' 

'  *  But, ' '  persisted  I,  shrinking  into  a  cor- 
ner of  the  coach,  however,  for  I  did  not 
know  precisely  how  much  contradiction  the 
proper  spirit  of  a  woman  would  endure — ■ 
' '  but,  my  love,  would  it  not  have  been  more 
dignified  to  treat  the  villain  with  the  silent 
contempt  he  merited  ?  ' ' 

''That  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Bullfrog," 
said  my  wife,  slyly,  "but  in  that  case 
where  would  have  been  the  five  thousand 
dollars  which  are  to  stock  your  dry-goods 
store?" 

' '  Mrs.  Bullfrog,  upon  your  honor, ' '  de- 
manded I,  as  if  my  life  hung  upon  her 
words,  '*  is  there  no  mistake  about  those 
five  thousand  dollars  ?  ' ' 

' '  Upon  my  word  and  honor  there  is  none, '  * 
replied  she.  "The  jury  gave  me  every  cent 
the  rascal  had,  and  I  have  kept  it  all  for  my 
dear  Bullfrog." 

"Then,  thou  dear  woman,"  cried  I,  with 
an  overwhelming  gush  of  tenderness,  "  let 
me  fold  thee  to  my  heart !  The  basis  of 
matrimonial  bliss  is  secure,  and  all  thy  little 
defects  and  frailties  are  forgiven.  Na3% 
since  the  result  has  been  so  fortunate,  I 
rejoice  at  the  wrongs  which  drove  thee  to 
this  blessed  lawsuit,  happy  Bullfrog  that  I 
am!" 


156  Cap  it  a  I  Stories 

"WIPED   OUT." 

BY  A.  A.  HAYES. 
I. 

Any  one  who  has  seen  an  outward  bound 
clipper  ship  getting  under  way  and  heard 
the  "shanty-songs"  sung  by  the  sailors  as 
they  toiled  at  capstan  and  halyards,  will 
probably  remember  that  rhymeless  but  mel- 
odious refrain — 

*'  I'm  bound  to  see  its  muddy  waters 
Yeo  ho  !   that  rolling  river ; 
Bound  to  see  its  muddy  waters 
Yeo  ho  !   the  wild  Missouri." 

Only  a  happy  inspiration  could  have  im- 
pelled Jack  to  apply  the  adjective  "wild" 
to  that  ill-behaved  and  disreputable  river 
which,  tipsily  bearing  its  enormous  burden 
of  mud  from  the  far  Northwest,  totters, 
reels,  runs  its  tortuous  course  for  hundreds 
on  hundreds  of  miles  ;  and  which,  encoun- 
tering the  lordly  and  thus  far  well-behaved 
Mississippi  at  Alton,  and  forcing  its  com- 
pany upon  this  splendid  river  (as  if  some 
drunken  fellow  should  lock  arms  with  a  dig- 
nified pedestrian)  contaminates  it  all  the  way 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

At  a  certain  point  on  the  banks  of  this 
river,  or  rather — as  it  has  the  habit  of 
abandoning  and  destroying  said  banks — at 
a  safe  distance  therefrom,  there  is  a  town 


By  American  Authors,  157 

from  which  a  railroad  takes  its  departure  for 
its  long  climb  up  the  natural  incline  of  the 
Great  Plains,  to  the  base  of  the  mountains  ; 
hence  the  importance  to  this  town  of  the 
large  but  somewhat  shabby  building  serving 
as  terminal  station.  In  its  smoky  interior, 
late  in  the  evening  and  not  very  long  ago,  a 
train  was  nearly  ready  to  start.  It  was  a 
train  possessing  a  certain  consideration. 
For  the  benefit  of  a  public  easily  gulled  and 
enamored  of  grandiloquent  terms,  it  was 
advertised  as  the  ' '  Denver  Fast  Express  ; '  * 
sometimes,  with  strange  unfitness,  as  the 
"Lightning  Express;"  '*  elegant"  and 
' '  palatial ' '  cars  were  declared  to  be  included 
therein ;  and  its  departure  was  one  of  the 
great  events  of  the  twenty-four  hours,  in  the 
country  round  about.  A  local  poet  de- 
scribed it  in  the  "  live  "  paper  of  the  town, 
cribbing  from  an  old  Eastern  magazine  and 
passing  off  as  original,  the  lines — 

"  Again  we  stepped  into  the  street, 

A  train  came  thundering  by, 
Drawn  by  the  snorting  iron  steed 

Swifter  than  eagles  fly. 
Rumbled  the  wheels,  the  whistle  shrieked, 

Far  rolled  the  smoky  cloud, 
Echoed  the  hills,  the  valley  shook, 

The  flying  forests  bowed." 

The  trainmen,  on  the  other  hand,  used  no 
fine  phrases.  They  called  it  simply  ' '  Num- 
ber Seventeen  ;  "  and,  when  it  started,  said 
it  had  "pulled  out." 


15S  Capital  Stories 

On  the  evening  in  question,  there  it  stood, 
nearly  ready.  Just  behind  the  great  hissing 
locomotive,  with  its  parabolic  headlight 
and  its  coal-laden  tender,  came  the  baggage, 
mail  and  express  cars  ;  then  the  passenger 
coaches,  in  which  the  social  condition  of 
the  occupants  seemed  to  be  in  inverse  ratio 
to  their  distance  from  the  engine.  First 
came  emigrants,  "honest  miners,"  "cow- 
boys" and  laborers;  Irishmen,  Germans, 
Welshmen,  Mennonites  from  Russia,  quaint 
of  garb  and  speech,  and  Chinamen.  Then 
came  long  cars  full  of  people  of  better  sta- 
tion, and  last  the  great  Pullman  "sleep- 
ers," in  which  the  busy  black  porters  were 
making  up  the  berths  for  well-to-do  travel- 
ers of  diverse  nationalities  and  occupations. 

It  was  a  curious  study  for  a  thoughtful 
observer,  this  motley  crowd  of  human 
beings  sinking  all  differences  of  race,  creed, 
and  habits  in  the  common  purpose  to  move 
Westward, — to  the  mountain  fastnesses,  the 
sage-brush  deserts,  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  warning  bell  had  sounded,  and  the 
fireman  leaned  far  out  for  the  signal.  The 
gong  struck  sharply,  the  conductor  shouted, 
"All  aboard"  and  raised  his  hand;  the 
tired  ticket-seller  shut  his  w^indow,  and  the 
train  moved  out  of  the  station,  gathered 
way  as  it  cleared  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
rounded  a  curve,  entered  on  an  absolutely 
straight  line,  and,  with  one  long  whistle 
from  the  engine,  settled  down  to  its  work. 


By  American  Authors,  159 

Through  the  night  hours  it  sped  on,  past 
lonely  ranches  and  infrequent  stations,  by 
and  across  shallow  streams,  fringed  with 
Cottonwood  trees,  over  the  greenish -yellow 
buffalo  grass ;  near  the  old  trail  where 
many  a  poor  emigrant,  many  a  bold  fron- 
tiersman, many  a  brave  soldier,  had  laid  his 
bones  but  a  short  time  before. 

Familiar  as  they  may  be,  there  is  some- 
thing strangely  impressive  about  all  night 
journeys  by  rail ;  and  those  forming  part 
of  an  American  transcontinental  trip  are 
almost  weird.  From  the  windows  of  a 
night-express  in  Europe,  or  the  older  por- 
tions of  the  United  States,  one  looks  on 
houses  and  lights,  cultivated  fields,  fences 
and  hedges ;  and,  hurled  as  he  may  be 
through  the  darkness,  he  has  a  sense  of 
companionship  and  semi-security.  Far  dif- 
ferent is  it  when  the  long  train  is  running 
over  those  two  rails  which,  seen  before 
night  set  in,  seemed  to  meet  on  the  horizon. 
Within,  all  is  as  if  between  two  great  sea- 
board cities  ; — the  neatly  dressed  people, 
the  uniformed  ofiicials,  the  handsome  fit- 
tings, the  various  appliances  for  comfort. 
Without  are  now  long,  dreary  levels,  now 
deep  and  wild  canons,  now  an  environment 
of  strange  and  grotesque  rock-formations, 
castles,  battlements,  churches,  statues.  The 
antelope  fleetly  runs,  and  the  coyote  skulks 
away  from  the  track,  and  the  gray  wolf 
howls  afar  off.     It  is  for  all  the  world,  to 


i6o  Capital  Stories 

one's  fancy,  as  if  a  bit  of  civilization,  a 
family  or  community,  its  belongings  and 
surroundings  complete,  were  flying  through 
regions  barbarous  and  inhospitable. 

From  the  cab  of  Engine  No.  32,  the 
driver  of  the  Denver  Express  saw,  showing 
faintly  in  the  early  morning,  the  buildings 
grouped  about  the  little  station  ten  miles 
ahead,  where  breakfast  awaited  his  passen- 
gers. He  looked  at  his  watch  ;  he  had  just 
twenty  minutes  in  which  to  run  the  dis- 
tance, as  he  had  run  it  often  before.  Some- 
thing, however,  traveled  faster  than  he. 
From  the  smoky  station  out  of  which  the 
train  passed  the  night  before,  along  the 
slender  wire  stretched  on  rough  poles  at  the 
side  of  the  track,  a  spark  of  that  mysterious 
something  which  we  call  electricity  flashed 
at  the  moment  he  returned  the  watch  to  his 
pocket ;  and  in  five  minutes  time,  the 
station-master  came  out  on  the  platform,  a 
little  more  thoughtful  than  his  wont,  and 
looked  eastward  for  the  smoke  of  the  train. 
With  but  three  of  the  passengers  in  that 
train  has  this  tale  specially  to  do,  and  they 
were  all  in  the  new  and  comfortable  Pull- 
man "  City  of  Cheyenne."  One  was  a  tall, 
well-made  man  of  about  thirty, — blonde, 
blue-eyed,  bearded,  straight,  sinewy,  alert. 
Of  all  in  the  train  he  seemed  the  most  thor- 
oughly at  home,  and  the  respectful  greeting 
of  the  conductor,  as  he  passed  through  the 
car,  marked  him  as  an  officer  of  the  road. 


By  American  Authors.  i6"i 

Such  was  he — Henry  Sinclair,  assistant 
engineer,  quite  famed  on  the  line,  high  in 
favor  with  the  directors,  and  a  rising  man  in 
all  ways.  It  was  known  on  the  roaci  that 
he  was  expected  in  Denver,  and  there  were 
rumors  that  he  was  to  organize  the  parties 
for  the  survey  of  an  important  "extension." 
Beside  him  sat  his  pretty  young  wife.  She 
was  a  New  Yorker — one  could  tell  at  first 
glance — from  the  feather  of  her  little  bon- 
net, matching  the  gray  traveling  dress,  to 
the  tips  of  her  dainty  boots  ;  and  one,  too, 
at  whom  old  Fifth  Avenue  promenaders 
would  have  turned  to  look.  She  had  a 
charming  figure,  brown  hair,  hazel  eyes, 
and  an  expression  at  once  kind,  intelligent 
and  spirited.  She  had  cheerfully  left  a 
luxurious  home  to  follow  the  young  engi- 
neer's fortunes  ;  and  it  was  well  known  that 
those  fortunes  had  been  materially  advanced 
by  her  tact  and  cleverness. 

The  third  passenger  in  question  had  just 
been  in  conversation  with  Sinclair,  and  the 
latter  was  telling  his  wife  of  their  curious 
meeting.  Entering  the  toilet  room  at  the 
rear  of  the  car,  he  said,  he  had  begun  his 
ablutions  by  the  side  of  another  man,  and  it 
was  as  they  were  sluicing  their  faces  with 
water  that  he  heard  the  cry  : 

' '  Why,  Major,  is  that  you  ?  Just  to  think 
of  meeting  you  here  !  ' ' 

A  man  of  about  twenty-eight  years  of  age, 
slight,  muscular,  wiry,  had  seized  his  wet 


1 6  2  Capital  Stories 

hand  and  was  wringing  it.  He  had  black 
eyes,  keen  and  bright,  swarthy  complexion, 
black  hair  and  mustache.  A  keen  obser\'er 
might  have  seen  about  him  some  signs  of  a 
jeiinesse  orageuse^  but  his  manner  was  frank 
and  pleasing.  Sinclair  looked  him  in  the 
face,  puzzled  for  a  moment. 

"Don't  you  remember  Foster?"  asked 
the  man. 

' '  Of  course  I  do, ' '  replied  Sinclair.  ' '  For 
a  moment  I  could  not  place  you.  Where 
have  you  been  and  what  have  you  been 
doing?  " 

"Oh,"  replied  Foster,  laughing,  "I've 
braced  up  and  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  I'm 
a  respectable  member  of  society,  have  a 
place  in  the  express  company  and  am  going 
to  Denver  to  take  charge." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  and  yoM  must 
tell  me  your  stor>^,  when  we  have  had  our 
breakfast. ' ' 

The  pretty  young  woman  was  just  about 
to  ask  who  Foster  was,  when  the  speed  of 
the  train  slackened,  and  the  brakeman 
opened  the  door  of  the  car  and  cried  out  in 
stentorian  tones  : 

' '  Pawnee  Junction  ;  twenty  minutes  for 
refreshments !  ' ' 

II. 

When  the  celebrated  Rocky  Mountain 
gold    excitement    broke    out,    more     than 


By  American  Authors.  163 

twenty  years  ago,  and  people  painted 
"Pike's  Peak  or  Bust"  on  the  canvas 
covers  of  their  wagons  and  started  for  the 
diggings,  they  established  a  * '  trail ' '  or 
"trace"  leading  in  a  southwesterly  direc- 
tion from  the  old  one  to  California. 

At  a  certain  point  on  this  trail  a  frontiers- 
man named  Barker  built  a  forlorn  ranch- 
house  and  corral  and  offered  what  is  con- 
ventionally called  ' '  entertainment  for  man 
and  beast. ' ' 

For  years  he  lived  there,  dividing  his  time 
between  fighting  the  Indians  and  feeding 
the  passing  emigrants  and  their  stock.  Then 
the  first  railroad  to  Denver  was  built,  taking 
another  route  from  the  Missouri,  and  Bar- 
ker's occupation  was  gone.  He  retired 
with  his  gains  to  St.  £ouis  and  lived  in 
comfort. 

Years  passed  on,  and  the  "extension" 
over  which  our  train  is  to  pass  was  planned. 
The  old  pioneers  were  excellent  natural  en- 
gineers, and  their  successors  could  find  no 
better  route  than  they  had  chosen.  Thus  it 
was  that  "  Barker's"  became,  during  the 
construction  period,  an  important  point,  and 
the  frontiersman's  name  came  to  figure  on 
time-tables.  Meanwhile  the  place  passed 
through  a  process  of  evolution  which  would 
have  delighted  Darwin.  In  the  party  of  en- 
gineers which  first  camped  there  was  Sin- 
clair, and  it  was  by  his  advice  that  the 
contractors  selected   it  for  division   head- 


164  Capital  Stories 

quarters.  Then  came  drinking  '*  saloons  '* 
and  gambling  houses — alike  the  inevitable 
concomitant  and  the  bane  of  western  settle- 
ments ;  then  scattered  houses  and  shops, 
and  a  shabby  so-called  hotel,  in  which  the 
letting  of  miserable  rooms  (divided  from 
each  other  by  canvas  partitions)  was  wholly 
subordinated  to  the  business  of  the  bar. 
Before  long  Barker's  had  acquired  a  worse 
reputation  than  even  other  towns  of  its  type, 
the  abnormal  and  uncanny  aggregations 
of  squalor  and  vice  which  dotted  the  plains 
in  those  days  ;  and  it  was  at  its  worst  when 
Sinclair  returned  thither  and  took  up  his 
quarters  in  the  engineers'  building.  The 
passion  for  gambling  was  raging,  and  to 
pander  thereto  were  collected  as  choice  a  lot 
of  desperadoes  as  ever  "  stocked  "  cards  or 
loaded  dice.  It  came  to  be  noticed  that  they 
were  on  excellent  terms  w^ith  a  man  called 
"Jeff"  Johnson,  who  was  lessee  of  the 
hotel ;  and  to  be  suspected  that  said  John- 
son, in  local  parlance,  "stood  in  with" 
them.  With  this  man  had  come  to  Barker's 
his  daughter  Sarah,  commonl^^  known  as 
"Sally,"  a  handsome  girl  with  a  straight, 
lithe  figure,  fine  features,  reddish  auburn 
hair  and  dark  blue  eyes.  It  is  but  fair  to 
say  that  even  the  "toughs"  of  a  place  like 
Barker's  show  some  respect  for  the  other 
sex,  and  Miss  Sally's  case  w^as  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  The  male  population  admired 
her  ;  they  said  she  ' '  put  on  heaps  of  style;  " 


By  American  Authors.  165 

but  none  of  them  had  seemed  to  make  any 
progress  in  her  good  graces. 

On  a  pleasant  afternoon,  just  after  the 
track  had  been  laid  some  miles  west  of 
Barker's,  and  construction  trains  were  run- 
ning with  some  regularity  to  and  from  the 
end  thereof,  Sinclair  sat  on  the  rude 
veranda  of  the  engineers'  quarters,  smoking 
his  well-colored  meerschaum  and  looking  at 
the  sunset.  The  atmosphere  had  been  so 
clear  during  the  day  that  glimpses  were  had 
of  Long's  and  Pike's  Peaks,  and  as  the 
young  engineer  gazed  at  the  gorgeous  cloud 
display  he  was  thinking  of  the  miners' 
quaint  and  pathetic  idea  that  the  dead  * '  go 
over  the  Range." 

**Nice  looking,  ain't  it.  Major?"  asked 
a  voice  at  his  elbow,  and  he  turned  to  see 
one  of  the  contractors'  officials  taking  a  seat 
near  him. 

"More  than  nice  looking  to  my  mind, 
Sam,"  he  replied.  '*  What  is  the  news  to- 
day ?  " 

'*  Nothin'  much.  There's  a  sight  of  talk 
about  the  doin's  of  them  faro  an'  keno 
sharps.  The  boys  is  gittin'  kind  o'  riled, 
fur  they  allow  the  game  ain't  on  the  square 
waith  a  cent.  Some  of  'em  down  to  the  tie- 
camp  wuz  a-talkin'  about  a  vigilance  com- 
mittee, an'  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  ef  they 
meant  business.  Hev  yer  heard  about  the 
young  feller  that  come  in  a  week  ago  from 
Laramie  an'  set  up  a  new  faro-bank  ?  ' ' 


1 66  Capital  Stories 

"No.     What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Wa'al,  3'er  see  he's  a  feller  thet's  got  a 
lot  of  sand  an'  ain't  afeared  of  nobody,  an' 
he's  allowed  to  hev  the  deal  to  his  place  on 
the  square  every  time.  Accordin'  to  my 
idee,  gamblin's  about  the  wust  racket  a 
feller  kin  work,  but  it  takes  all  sorts  of  men 
to  make  a  world,  an'  ef  the  boys  is  bound 
to  hev  a  game,  I  calkilate  they'd  like  to 
patronize  his  bank.  Thet's  made  the  old 
crowd  mighty  mad,  an'  they're  a-talkin' 
about  puttin'  up  a  job  of  cheatin'  on  him 
an'  then  stringin'  him  up.  Besides,  I  kind 
o'  think  there's  some  cussed  jealous}^  on 
another  lay  as  comes  in.  Yer  see  the  young 
feller— Cyrus  Foster's  his  name — is  sweet 
on  thet  gal  of  Jeff  Johnson's.  Jeff  wuz  to 
Laramie  before  he  come  here,  an'  Foster 
knowed  Sally  up  thar,  I  allow  he  moved 
here  to  see  her.  Hello  !  If  thar  they  ain't 
a-comin'  now." 

Down  a  path  leading  from  the  town,  past 
the  railroad  buildings,  and  well  on  the  prai- 
rie, Sinclair  saw  the  girl  w^alking  with  the 
"  3'oung  feller."  He  was  talking  earnestly 
to  her,  and  her  eyes  were  cast  dowm.  She 
looked  pretty  and,  in  a  way,  graceful  ;  and 
there  was  in  her  attire  a  noticeable  attempt 
at  neatness,  and  a  faint  reminiscence  of  by- 
gone fashions.  A  smile  came  to  Sinclair's 
lips  as  he  thought  of  a  couple  walking  up 
Fifth  Avenue  during  his  leave  of  absence 
not  many  months  before,  and  of  a  letter, 


By  A^nericaii  Authors.  167 

many  times  read,  lying  at  that  moment  in 
his  breast-pocket. 

"  Papa's  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite,"  ran 
one  of  its  sentences.  ' '  Of  course  he  does 
not  like  the  idea  of  my  leaving  him  and  go- 
ing away  to  such  dreadful  and  remote  places 
as  Denver  and  Omaha,  and  I  don't  know 
what  else  ;  but  he  will  not  oppose  me  in  the 
end,  and  when  you  come  on  again — " 

**  By  thunder  !  "  exclaimed  Sam  ;  ''ef 
thar  ain't  one  of  them  there  sharps  a- 
watchin'  'em." 

Sure  enough,  a  rough-looking  fellow,  his 
hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  half-concealed 
behind  a  pile  of  lumber,  was  casting  a  sin- 
ister glance  toward  the  pair. 

* '  The  gal' s  well  enough, ' '  continued  Sam  ; 
**  but  I  don't  take  a  cent's  wuth  of  stock  in 
thet  thar  father  of  her'  n.  He' s  in  with  them 
sharps,  sure  pop,  an'  it  don't  suit  his  book 
to  hev  Foster  hangin'  round.  It's  ten  to 
one  he  sent  that  cuss  to  watch  'em.  Wa'al, 
they're  a  queer  lot,  an'  I'm  afeared  thar's 
plenty  of  trouble  ahead  among  'em.  Good 
luck  to  you.  Major,"  and  he  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  walked  away. 

After  breakfast  next  morning,  when  Sin- 
clair was  sitting  at  the  table  in  his  office, 
busy  with  maps  and  plans,  the  door  was 
thrown  open  and  Foster,  panting  for  breath, 
ran  in. 

"  Major  Sinclair,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
difficulty,  "  I've  no  claim  on  j^ou,  but  I  ask 


1 68  Capital  Stories 

you  to  protect  me.  The  other  gamblers  are 
going  to  hang  me.  They  are  more  than  ten 
to  one.  They  will  track  me  here,  and  unless 
you  harbor  me,  I'm  a  dead  man." 

Sinclair  rose  from  his  chair  in  a  second 
and  walked  to  the  window.  A  party  of  men 
were  approaching  the  building.  He  turned 
to  Foster  : 

* '  I  do  not  like  your  trade, ' '  said  he  ;  "  but 
I  will  not  see  you  murdered  if  I  can  help 
it.  You  are  welcome  here."  Foster  said 
**  Thank  3'ou,"  stood  still  a  moment,  and 
then  began  to  pace  the  room,  rapidly  clench- 
ing his  hands,  his  whole  frame  quivering, 
his  e3'es  flashing  fire — "  for  all  the  world,'* 
Sinclair  said,  in  telling  the  story  afterward, 
"  like  a  fierce  caged  tiger." 

"Trapped!"  he  muttered,  with  concen- 
trated intensity,  "to  be  trapped,  trapped, 
like  this  !" 

Sinclair  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  of 
his  bed-room  and  motioned  Foster  to  enter. 
Then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  outer  door, 
and  he  opened  it  and  stood  on  the  threshold, 
erect  and  firm.  Half-a-dozen  ''toughs" 
faced  him. 

"Major,"  said  their  spokesman,  "we 
want  that  man." 

"  You  cannot  have  him,  boys." 

"  Major,  we're  a-goin'  to  take  him." 

"You  had  better  not  try,"  said  Sinclair, 
with  perfect  ease  and  self-possession,  and  in 
a  pleasant  voice.       ' '  I    have    given    him 


By  American  Authors.  169 

shelter,  and  you  can  only  get  him  over  my 
dead  body.  Of  course  you  can  kill  me,  but 
you  won't  do  even  that  without  one  or  two 
of  you  going  down  ;  and  then  you  know 
perfectly  well,  boys,  what  will  happen. 
You  know  that  if  you  lay  your  finger  on  a 
railroad  man  it's  all  up  with  you.  There 
are  five  hundred  men  in  the  graders'  camp, 
not  five  miles  away,  and  you  don't  need  to 
be  told  that  in  less  than  one  hour  after  they 
get  word  there  won't  be  a  piece  of  one  of 
you  big  enough  to  bury." 

The  men  made  no  reply.  They  looked 
him  straight  in  the  eyes  for  a  moment. 
Had  they  seen  a  sign  of  flinching  they  might 
have  risked  the  issue,  but  there  was  none. 
With  muttered  curses,  they  slunk  away. 
Sinclair  shut  and  bolted  the  door,  then 
opened  the  one  leading  to  the  bed-room. 

"Foster,"  he  said,  '*the  train  will  pass 
here  in  half  an  hour.  Have  you  money 
enough  ?  " 

"  Plenty,  Major." 

' '  Very  well  ;  keep  perfectly  quiet,  and  I 
will  try  to  get  you  safely  off. ' '  He  went  to 
an  adjoining  room  and  called  Sam,  the  con- 
tractors' man.  He  took  in  the  situation  at 
a  glance. 

*' Wa'al,  Foster,"  said  he,  "kind'o  'close 
call '  for  yer,  warn't  it  ?  Guess  yer'd  better 
be  gittin'  up  an'  gittin'  pretty  lively.  The 
train  boys  will  take  yer  through,  an'  yer  kin 
come  back  when  this  racket's  worked  out." 


1 70  Capital  Stories 

Sinclair  glanced  at  liis  watch,  then  he 
"walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  On 
a  small  viesa,  or  elevated  plateau,  command- 
ing the  path  to  the  railroad,  he  saw  a  num- 
ber of  men  with  rifles. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  said  he.  "Sam, 
ask  one  of  the  boj'S  to  go  down  to  the  track 
and,  when  the  train  arrives,  tell  the  con- 
ductor to  come  here." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  w^histle  was  heard, 
and  the  conductor  entered  the  building. 
Receiving  his  instructions,  he  returned,  and 
immediately  on  engine,  tender  and  platform 
appeared  the  trainmen,  with  their  rifles  cov- 
ering the  group  on  the  bluff.  Sinclair  put 
on  his  hat. 

"Now,  Foster,"  said  he,  "  w^e  have  no 
time  to  lose.  Take  Sam's  arm  and  mine, 
and  walk  bet^^een  us." 

The  trio  left  the  building  and  walked  de- 
liberately to  the  railroad.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken.  Besides  the  men  in  sight  on  the 
train,  two  behind  the  window  blinds  of  one 
of  the  passenger  coaches,  and  unseen,  kept 
their  fingers  on  the  triggers  of  their  repeat- 
ing carbines.  It  seemed  a  long  time,  counted 
by  anxious  seconds,  until  Foster  was  safe  in 
the  coach. 

"All  read^^  conductor,"  said  Sinclair. 
"Now,  Foster,  good-bye.  I  am  not  good 
at  lecturing,  but  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
make  this  the  turning  point  in  my  life." 

Foster  was  much  moved. 


By  American  Authors.  17  r 

"  I  will  do  it,  Major,"  said  he  ;  *'  and  I 
shall  never  forget  what  you  have  done  for 
me  to-day.  I  am  sure  we  shall  meet 
again." 

With  another  shriek  from  the  whistle  the 
train  started.  Sinclair  and  Sam  saw  the 
men  quietly  returning  the  firearms  to  their 
places  as  it  gathered  way.  Then  they 
w^alked  back  to  their  quarters.  The  men  on 
the  viesa^  balked  of  their  purpose,  had 
withdrawn. 

Sam  accompanied  Sinclair  to  his  door  and 
then  sententiously  remarked:  "Major,  I 
think  I'll  light  out  and  find  some  of  the 
boys.  You  ain't  got  no  call  to  know  any- 
thing about  it,  but  I  allow  it's  about  time 
them  games  w^as  bounced." 

Three  nights  after  this  a  powerful  party 
of  Vigilantes,  stern  and  inexorable,  made  a 
raid  on  all  the  gambling  dens,  broke  the 
tables  and  apparatus,  and  conducted  the 
men  to  a  distance  from  the  town,  where  they 
left  them  with  an  emphatic  and  concise 
warning  as  to  the  consequences  of  any 
attempt  to  return.  An  exception  was  made 
in  Jeff  Johnson's  case — but  only  for  the 
sake  of  his  daughter — for  it  was  found  that 
many  games  of  chance  had  been  carried  on 
in  his  house. 

Ere  long  he  found  it  convenient  to  sell  his 
business  and  retire  to  a  town  some  miles  to- 
the  eastward,  where  the  railroad  influence 
was  not  as  strong  as  it  was  at  Barker's.    At 


172  Capital  Stories 

about  this  time,  Sinclair  made  his  arrange- 
ments to  go  to  New  York,  with  the  pleasant 
prospect  of  marrying  the  j^oung  lady  in 
Pifth  Avenue.  In  due  time  he  arrived  at 
Barker's  with  his  young  and  charming  wife 
and  remained  for  some  days.  The  changes 
were  astounding.  Commonplace  respecta- 
bility had  replaced  abnormal  lawlessness. 
A  neat  station  stood  where  had  been  the 
rough  contractors'  buildings.  At  a  new 
''  Windsor  "  (or  was  it  "  Brunswick  ?  "  ) 
the  performance  of  the  kitchen  contrasted 
sadly  (alas  !  how  common  is  such  contrast 
in  these  regions  !  )  with  the  promise  of  the 
^nemi.  There  was  a  tawdrj^  theatre  3'clept 
"Academy  of  Music,"  and  there  was  not 
much  to  choose  in  the  way  of  ugliness  be- 
tween two  "meeting-houses." 

"  Upon  my  word,  m}^  dear,"  said  Sinclair 
to  his  wife,  "  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  say 
it,  but  I  prefer  Barker's  au  7iatureiy 

One  evening,  just  before  the  young  people 
left  the  town,  and  as  Mrs.  Sinclair  sat  alone 
in  her  room,  the  frowsy  waitress  announced 
"a  lady,"  and  was  requested  to  bid  her 
enter.  A  woman  came  with  timid  mien 
into  the  room,  sat  down,  as  invited,  and 
removed  her  veil.  Of  course  the  3'Oung 
bride  had  never  known  Sally  Johnson,  the 
whilom  belle  of  Barker's,  but  her  husband 
would  have  noticed  at  a  glance  how  greatly 
she  was  changed  from  the  girl  who  walked 
with   Foster  past  the  engineer's  quarters. 


By  American  Authors.  173 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  striking 
contrast  than  was  presented  by  the  two 
women  as  they  sat  facing  each  other  ;  the 
one  in  the  flush  of  health  and  beauty,  calm, 
sweet,  self-possessed  ;  the  other  still  retain- 
ing some  of  the  shabby  finery  of  old  days, 
but  pale  and  haggard,  with  black  rings 
under  her  eyes,  and  a  pathetic  air  of  humil- 
iation. 

"  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  she  hurriedly  began, 
"  you  do  not  know  me,  or  the  like  of  me. 
I've  got  no  right  to  speak  to  you,  but  I 
couldn't  help  it.  Oh  !  please  believe  me, 
I  am  not  real  downright  bad.  I'm  Sally 
Johnson,  daughter  of  a  man  whom  they 
drove  out  of  the  town.  My  mother  died  when 
I  was  little,  and  I  never  had  a  show  ;  and 
folks  think  because  I  live  with  my  father, 
and  he  makes  me  know  the  crowd  he  travels 
with,  that  I  must  be  in  with  them,  and  be 
of  their  sort.  I  never  had  a  woman  speak 
a  kind  word  to  me,  and  I've  had  so  much 
trouble  that  I'm  just  drove  wild,  and  like 
to  kill  myself ;  and  then  I  was  at  the  station 
when  you  came  in  and  I  saw  your  sweet 
face  and  the  kind  look  in  your  eyes,  and  it 
came  in  my  heart  that  I'd  speak  to  you  if 
I  died  for  it."  She  leaned  eagerly  forward, 
her  hands  nervously  closing  on  the  back  of 
a  chair.  ' '  I  suppose  your  husband  never 
told  you  of  me  ;  like  enough  he  never  knew 
me  ;  but  I'll  never  forget  him  as  long  as  I 
live.     When  he  was  here  before,  there  was 


174  Capital  Stories 

a  young  man  " — here  a  faint  color  came  in 
the  wan  cheeks — '  *  who  was  fond  of  me,  and 
I  thought  the  world  of  him,  and  my  father 
was  down  on  him,  and  the  men  that  father 
was  in  with  wanted  to  kill  him  ;  and  Mr. 
Sinclair  saved  his  life.  He's  gone  away, 
and  I've  waited  and  waited  for  him  to  come 
back — and  perhaps  I'll  never  see  him  again. 
But  oh  !  dear  lady,  I'll  never  forget  what 
your  husband  did.  He's  a  good  man  and 
he  deserves  the  love  of  a  dear  good  woman 
like  you,  and  if  I  dared,  I'd  pray  for  you 
both,  night  and  day." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  sank  back  in 
her  seat,  pale  as  before  and  as  if  frightened 
by  her  own  emotion.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  lis- 
tened with  sympath}^  and  increasing  interest. 

"My  poor  girl,"  she  said,  speaking  ten- 
derly (she  had  a  lovely,  soft  voice)  and  with 
slightly  heightened  color,  "  I  am  delighted 
that  you  came  to  see  me,  and  that  my  hus- 
band was  able  to  help  you.  Tell  me,  can 
we  not  do  more  for  j^ou  ?  I  do  not  for  one 
moment  believe  j^ou  can  be  happy  w4th  your 
present  surroundings.  Can  we  not  assist 
you  to  leave  them  ? ' ' 

The  girl  rose,  sadly  shaking  her  head. 
"I  thank  you  for  your  words,"  she  said. 
**I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  see  you  again, 
but  I'll  say  God  bless  you  !  " 

She  caught  Mrs.  Sinclair's  hand,  pressed 
it  to  her  lips  and  was  gone. 

Sinclair  found  his   wife   very  thoughtful 


By  American  Authors.  175 

when  he  came  home,  and  he  listened  with 
much  interest  to  her  story. 

"Poor  girl!"  said  he;  "Foster  is  the 
man  to  help  her.  I  wonder  where  he  is  ?  I 
must  inquire  about  him." 

The  next  day,  they  proceeded  on  their 
way  to  San  Francisco,  and  matters  drifted 
on  at  Barker's  much  as  before.  Johnson 
had,  after  an  absence  of  some  months,  come 
back  and  lived  without  molestation,  amid 
the  shifting  population.  Now  and  then, 
too,  some  of  the  older  residents  fancied  they 
recognized,  under  slouched  sombreros,  the 
faces  of  some  of  his  former  '  *  crowd  ' '  about 
the  "  Ranchman's  Home,"  as  his  gaudy 
place  was  called. 

On  the  very  evening  on  which  this  story 
opens,  and  they  were  ' '  making  up ' '  the 
Denver  Express  in  the  train-house  on  the 
Missouri,  ' '  Jim  ' '  Watkins,  agent  and  teleg- 
rapher at  Barker's,  was  sitting  in  his  little 
ofl&ce,  communicating  with  the  station  rooms 
by  the  ticket  window.  Jim  was  a  cool, 
silent,  efficient  man,  and  not  much  given  to 
talk  about  such  episodes  in  his  past  life  as 
the  "wiping  out"  by  Indians  of  the  con- 
struction party  to  which  he  belonged,  and 
his  own  rescue  by  the  scouts.  He  was  smok- 
ing an  old  and  favorite  pipe,  and  talking  with 
one  of  "  the  boys  ' '  whose  head  appeared  at 
the  wicket.  On  a  seat  in  the  station  sat  a 
woman  in  a  black  dress  and  veil,  apparently 
waiting  for  a  train. 


176  Capital  Stories 

' '  Got  a  heap  of  letters  and  telegrams 
there,  ain't  yer,  Jim?"  remarked  the  man 
at  the  window. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim;  "they're  for  Engi- 
neer Sinclair,  to  be  delivered  to  him  when 
he  passes  through  here.  He  leaves  on  No. 
17,  to-night."  The  inquirer  did  not  notice 
the  .sharp  start  of  the  woman  near  him. 

"Is  that  good-lookin'  wife  of  his'n  a 
comin'  with  him  ?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,  there's  letters  for  her,  too." 

"  Well,  good-night,  Jim.  See  yer  later," 
and  he  went  out.  The  woman  suddenly 
rose  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"Mr.  Watkins,"  cried  she,  "can  I  see 
you  for  a  few  moments,  where  no  one  can 
interrupt  us?"  She  clutched  the  sill  with 
her  thin  hands  and  her  voice  trembled. 
Watkins  recognized  Sally  Johnson  in  a 
moment.  He  unbolted  a  door,  motioned 
her  to  enter,  closed  and  again  bolted  it,  and 
also  closed  the  ticket  window.  Then  he 
pointed  to  a  chair,  and  the  girl  sat  down  and 
leaned  eagerly  forward. 

"  If  they  knew  I  was  here,"  she  said  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  "  my  life  wouldn't  be  safe 
five  minutes.  I  was  Avaiting  to  tell  you  a 
terrible  story,  and  then  I  heard  who  was  on 
the  train  due  here  to-morrow  night.  Mr. 
Watkins,  don't  for  God's  sake,  ask  me  how 
I  found  out,  but  I  hope  to  die  if  I  ain't  tell- 
ing you  the  living  truth  !  They're  going  to 
wreck  that  train — No.   17 — at  Dead  Man's 


By  American  Authors.  177 

Crossing,  fifteen  miles  east,  and  rob  the 
passengers  and  the  express  car.  It's  the 
worst  gang  in  the  country,  Perry' s.  They're 
going  to  throw  the  train  off  the  track,  the 
passengers  will  be  maimed  and  killed, — and 
Mr.  Sinclair  and  his  wife  on  the  cars ! 
Oh  !  I  pray  !  Mr.  Watkins,  send  them  warn- 
ing. 

She  stood  upright,  her  face  deadly  pale, 
her  hands  clasped.  Watkins  walked  delib- 
erately to  the  railroad  map  which  hung  on 
the  wall  and  scanned  it.  Then  he  resumed 
his  seat,  laid  his  pipe  down,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  girl's  face,  and  began  to  question  her. 
At  the  same  time  his  right  hand,  with  which 
he  had  held  the  pipe,  found  its  way  to  the 
telegraph  key.  None  but  an  expert  could 
have  distinguished  any  change  in  the  click- 
ing of  the  instrument,  which  had  been 
almost  incessant ;  but  Watkins  had 
"called"  the  head  office  of  the  Missouri. 
In  two  minutes  the  *  *  sounder  ' '  rattled  out 
* '  All  right !      What  is  itf ' ' 

Watkins  went  on  with  his  questions,  his 
eyes  still  fixed  on  the  poor  girl's  face  and  all 
the  time  his  fingers,  as  it  were,  playing 
with  the  key.  If  he  were  imperturbable,  so 
was  not  a  man  sitting  at  a  receiving  intru- 
ment  nearly  five  hundred  miles  away.  He 
had  ' '  taken ' '  but  a  few  words  when  he 
jumped  from  his  chair  and  cried  : 

"Shut  that  door,  and  call  the  superinten- 
dent  and  be   quick  !    Charley,  brace   up — 


lyS  Capital  Stories 

lively —  and  come  and  write  this  out ! ' ' 
With  his  wonderful  electric  pen,  the  handle 
several  hundreds  of  miles  long,  Watkins, 
unknown  to  his  interlocutor,  was  printing 
in  the  Morse  alphabet  this  startling  mes- 
sage : 

'^  Inform' 71  reed.  Perry  gang  going  to 
throw  No.  ly  off  track  near  — xth  mile  post^ 
this  divisio7i,  about  nine  to-morrow  (^Thurs- 
day') nighty  kill  passeiigers,  and  rob  express 
a7id  -mail.  A7n  alone  he7'e.  No  cha7ice  to 
ve7^ify  story,  but  believe  it  to  be  07i  square. 
Better  make  arra7igenie7its  fro77i  your  end  to 
block  game.    No  sheriff  here  now.    Answer.''' 

The  superintendent,  responding  to  the 
hasty  summons,  heard  the  message  before 
the  clerk  had  time  to  write  it  out.  His  lips 
were  closely  compressed  as  he  put  his  own 
hand  on  the  key  and  sent  these  laconic 
sentences  :  '^  O.  K.  Keep  perfectly  dark. 
Will  7na7iage  from  this  e7id. ' ' 

Watkins,  at  Barker's,  rose  from  his  seat, 
opened  the  door  a  little  way,  saw  that  the 
station  was  empty,  and  then  said  to  the 
girl,  brusquely,  but  kindly  : 

"Sally,  you've  done  the  square  thing, 
and  saved  that  train.  I'll  take  care  that 
you  don't  suffer  and  that  you  get  well  paid. 
Now  come  home  with  me,  and  my  wife  will 
look  out  for  you." 

"  Oh  !  no,"  cried  the  girl,  shrinking  back, 
"  I  must  run  away.     You're  mighty  kind, 


By  A7nerican  Atithors.  179 

but  I  daren't  go  with  you."  Detecting  a 
shade  of  doubt  in  his  eye,  she  added  : 
"  Don't  be  af eared  ;  I'll  die  before  they'll 
know  I've  given  them  away  to  you  !"  and 
she  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  wire,  the  superin- 
tendent had  quietly  impressed  secrecy  on 
his  operator  and  clerk,  ordered  his  fast  mare 
harnessed,  and  gone  to  his  private  office. 

"Read  that!"  said  he  to  his  secretary. 
"  It  was  about  time  for  some  trouble  of  this 
kind,  and  now  I'm  going  to  let  Uncle  Sam 
take  care  of  his  mails.  If  I  don't  get  to  the 
reservation  before  the  General's  turned  in, 
I  shall  have  to  wake  him  up.  Wait  for  me, 
please. ' ' 

The  gray  mare  made  the  six  miles  to  the 
military  reservation  in  just  half  an  hour. 
The  General  was  smoking  his  last  cigar,  and 
and  was  alert  in  an  instant ;  and  before  the 
superintendent  had  finished  the  cup  of  hot 
coffee  hospitably  tended,  the  orders  had 
gone  by  wire  to  the  commanding  officer  at 

Fort ,  some   distance  east  of  Barker's, 

and  been  duly  acknowledged. 

Returning  to  the  station,  the  superin- 
tendent remarked  to  the  waiting  secretary  : 

"The  General's  all  right.  Of  course  we 
can't  tell  that  this  is  not  a  sell ;  but  if  those 
Perry  hounds  mean  business  they'll  get  all 
the  fight  they  want ;  and  if  they've  got  any 
souls, — which  I  doubt, — may  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  them  !" 


1 80  Capital  Stories 

He  prepared  several  dispatches,  two  of 
which  w^ere  as  follows : 

"  Mr.  Henry  Sinclair  : 

"  Oil  No.  17,  Pawnee  Junction  : 
This  telegrams you7' authority  to  take  charge 
of  traiji  on  which  you  are  and  demand  obedi- 
ence of  all  officials  a7id  trainmen  07i  road. 
Please  do  so,  a^id  act  in  accordance  with 
infor7natio7i  wired  station  agent  at  Pawnee 
Ju7ictio7iy 

To  the  Station  Agent  : 

*  *  Reported  Perry  ga7ig  will  try  W7'eck  a7id 
rob  No.  17  near — xth  77iile  post,  Denver  Divi- 
sio7i,  about    ni7ie   Thursday  7iight.       Troops 

will  await  trai7t  at  Fort .       Car  ordered 

ready  for  the77i.  Keep  everytlmig  secret,  a7id 
act  i7i  accorda7ice  with  orders  of  Mr.  Sinclair. ' ' 

"It's  worth  about  ten  thousand  dollars," 
sententiously  remarked  he,  "  that  Sinclair's 
on  that  train.  He's  got  both  sand  and 
brains.  Good-night,"  and  he  went  to  bed 
and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 


in. 

The  sun  never  shone  more  brightly  and 
the  air  was  never  more  clear  and  bracing 
than  w^ien  Sinclair  helped  his  wife  off  the 
train  at  Pawnee  Junction.  The  station- 
master's  face  fell  as  he  saw  the  ladv,  but  he 


I 


By  American  Aidhors.  i8i 

saluted  the  engineer  with  as  easy  an  air  as 
he  could  assume,  and  watched  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  him  alone.  vSinclair  read 
the  dispatches  with  an  unmoved  counte- 
nance, and  after  a  few  minutes'  reflection, 
simply  said  :  "All  right.  Be  sure  to  keep 
the  matter  perfectly  quiet."  At  breakfast 
he  was  distrait — so  much  so  that  his  wife 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  Taking 
her  aside,  he  at  once  showed  her  the  tele- 
grams. 

"You  see  my  duty,"  he  said.  "  My  only 
thought  is  about  you,  my  dear  child.  Will 
you  stay  here  ?  " 

She  simply  replied,  looking  into  his  face 
without  a  tremor  : 

* '  My  place  is  with  you. ' '  Then  the  con- 
ductor called  ' '  All  aboard, ' '  and  the  train 
once  more  started. 

Sinclair  asked  Foster  to  join  him  in  the 
smoking-compartment  and  tell  him  the 
promised  story,  which  the  latter  did.  His 
rescue  at  Barker's,  he  frankly  and  grate- 
fully said,  had  been  the  turning-point  in  his 
life.  In  brief,  he  had  "sworn  off"  from 
gambling  and  drinking,  had  found  honest 
employment,  and  was  doing  well. 

"I've  two  things  to  do  now.  Major,"  hs 
added:  "first,  I  must  show  my  gratitude  ; 
to  you  ;  and  next — ' '  he  hesitated  a  little — 
"  I  want  to  find  that  poor  girl  that  I  left  be- 
hind at  Barker's.  She  was  engaged  to 
marry  me,  and  when  I  come  to  think  of  it, 


1 82  Capital  Stories 

and  what  a  life  I'd  have  made  her  lead,  I 
hadn't  the  heart  till  now  to  look  for  her  ; 
but,  seeing  I'm  on  the  right  track,  I'm  going 
to  find  her,  and  get  her  to  come  with  me. 
her  father  is  a  bad  old  scoundrel,  but  that 
ain't  her  fault,  and  I  ain't  gomg  to  marry 

* '  Foster, ' '  quietly  asked  Sinclair,  * '  do  you 
know  the  Perry  gang  ?  " 

The  man's  brow  darkened. 

*  *  Know  them  ? ' '  said  he.  *  *  I  know  them 
much  too  well.  Perry  is  as  ungodly  a  cut- 
throat as  ever  killed  an  emigrant  in  cold 
blood,  and  he's  got  in  his  gang  nearly  all 
those  hounds  that  tried  to  hang  me.  Why 
do  you  ask,  Major?  " 

Sinclair  handed  him  the  dispatches. 
* '  You  are  the  only  man  on  the  train  to  whom 
I  have  shown  them,"  said  he. 

Foster  read  them  slowly,  his  eyes  lighting 
up  as  he  did  so.    "  Looks  as  if  it  was  true," 

said  he.      "  Let  me  see  !    Fort .     Yes, 

that's  the  — th  infantry.  Two  of  their  boys 
were  killed  at  Sidney  last  summer  by  some 
of  the  same  gang,  and  the  regiment's  sworn 
vengeance.  Major,  if  this  story's  on  the 
square,  that  crowd's  goose  is  cooked,  and 
do7i'tyo2i  forget  it !  I  say,  you  must  give  me 
a  hand  in." 

"  Foster,"  said  Sinclair,  "  I  am  going  to 
put  responsibility  on  your  shoulders.  I  have 
no  doubt  that,  if  we  be  attacked,  the  soldiers 
will  dispose  of  the  gang  ;  but  I  must  take 


By  American  Authors.  183 

all  possible  precautions  for  the  safety  of  the 
passengers.  We  must  not  alarm  them.  They 
can  be  made  to  thmk  that  the  troops  are 
going  on  a  scout,  and  only  a  certain  number 
of  resokite  men  need  be  told  of  what  we  ex- 
pect. Can  you,  late  this  afternoon,  go 
through  the  cars,  and  pick  them  out  ?  I  will 
then  put  you  in  charge  of  the  passenger  cars, 
and  you  can  post  your  men  on  the  platforms 
to  act  in  case  of  need.  My  place  will  be 
ahead." 

"Major,  you  can  depend  on  me,"  was 
Foster's  reply.  "  I'll  go  through  the  train 
and  have  my  eye  on  some  boys  of  the  right 
sort,  and  that's  got  their  shooting-irons  with 
them." 

Through  the  hours  of  that  day  on  rolled 
the  train,  still  over  the  crisp  buffalo  grass, 
across  the  well-worn  buffalo  trails,  past  the 
prairie-dog  villages.  The  passengers  chatted, 
dozed,  read  newspapers,  all  unconscious, 
with  the  exception  of  three,  of  the  coming 
conflict  between  the  good  and  the  evil  forces 
bearing  on  their  fate ;  of  the  fell  prepara- 
tions making  for  their  disaster ;  of  the  grim 
preparations  making  to  avert  such  disaster  ; 
of  all  of  which  the  little  wires  alongside  of 
them  had  been  talking  back  and  forth. 
Watkins  had  telegraphed  that  he  still  saw 
no  reason  to  doubt  the  good  faith  of  his 
warning,  and  Sinclair  had  reported  his  re- 
ceipt of  authority  and  his  acceptance  thereof. 
Meanwhile,    also,    there    had   been  set  in 


1 84  Capital  Stories 

motion  a  measure  of  that  power  to  which 
appeal  is  so  reluctantly   made  in  time  of 

peace.     At  Fort ,  a  lonely  post  on  the 

plains,  the  orders  had  that  morning  been 
issued  for  twenty  men  under  Lieutenant 
Halsey  to  parade  at  4  p.  m.,  wdth  overcoats, 
two  days'  rations,  and  ball  cartridges  ;  also 
for  Assistant  Surgeon  Kesler  to  report  for 
duty  with  the  party.  Orders  as  to  destina- 
tion were  communicated  direct  to  the  lieu- 
tenant from  the  post  commander,  and  on  the 
minute  the  little  column  moved,  taking  the 
road  to  the  station.  The  regiment  from 
which  it  came  had  been  in  active  service 
among  the  Indians  on  the  frontier  for  a  long 
time,  and  the  officers  and  men  were  tried 
and  seasoned  fighters.  Lieutenant  Halsey 
had  been  well  known  at  West  Point.  From 
there  he  had  gone  straight  to  the  field,  and 
three  3-ears  had  given  him  an  enviable  repu- 
tation for  sang  f  void  and  determined  bravery. 
He  looked  every  inch  the  soldier  as  he 
walked  along  the  trail,  his  cloak  thrown 
back  and  his  sword  tucked  under  his  arm. 
The  doctor,  who  carried  a  Modoc  bullet  in 
some  inaccessible  part  of  his  scarred  body, 
growled  good-naturedly  at  the  need  of  walk- 
ing, and  the  men,  enveloped  in  their  army- 
blue  overcoats,  marched  easily  by  fours. 
Reaching  the  station,  the  lieutenant  called 
the  agent  aside,  and  with  him  inspected,  on 
a  siding,  a  long  platform  car  on  which 
benches  had  been  placed  and  secured.    Then 


By  American  Authors.  185 

he  took  his  seat  in  the  station  and  quietly- 
waited,  occasionally  twisting  his  long 
blonde  mustache.  The  doctor  took  a  cigar 
with  the  agent  and  the  men  walked  about 
or  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  platform.  One  of 
them,  who  obtained  a  surreptitious  glance 
at  his  silent  commander,  told  his  com- 
panions that  there  was  trouble  ahead  for 
somebody. 

' '  That's  just  the  way  the  leftenant  looked, 
boys,"  said  he,  **  when  we  was  laying  for 
them  Apaches  that  raided  Jones'  Ranch 
and  killed  the  women  and  little  children." 

In  a  short  time  the  officer  looked  at  his 
watch,  formed  his  men,  and  directed  them 
to  take  their  places  on  the  seats  of  the  car. 
They  had  hardly  done  so,  when  the  whistle 
of  the  approaching  train  was  heard.  When 
it  came  up,  the  conductor,  who  had  his  in- 
structions from  Sinclair,  had  the  engine  de- 
tached and  backed  on  the  siding  for  the 
soldiers'  car,  which  thus  came  between  it 
and  the  foremost  baggage-car,  when  the 
train  was  again  made  up.  As  arranged,  it 
was  announced  that  the  troops  were  to  be 
taken  a  certain  distance  to  join  a  scouting 
party,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  passengers 
was  but  slightly  excited.  The  soldiers  sat 
quietly  in  their  seats,  their  repeating  rifles 
held  between  their  knees,  and  the  officer  in 
front.  Sinclair  joined  the  latter  and  had  a 
few  words  with  him  as  the  train  moved  on. 
A  little  later,  when  the  stars  were  shining 


1 86  Capital  Stories 

brightly  overhead,  they  passed  into  the 
express  car,  and  sent  for  the  conductor  and 
other  trainmen,  and  for  Foster.  In  a  few 
words  Sinclair  explained  the  position  of 
affairs.  His  statement  was  received  with 
perfect  coolness,  and  the  men  only  asked 
what  they  were  to  do. 

"  I  hope,  boys,"  said  Sinclair,  *'that  we 
are  going  to  put  this  gang  to-night  where 
they  will  make  no  more  trouble.  Lieutenant 
Halse}^  will  bear  the  brunt  of  the  fight,  and 
it  only  remains  for  you  to  stand  by  the  in- 
terests committed  to  your  care.  Mr.  Express 
Agent,  what  help  do  you  want  ?  ' '  The  per- 
son addressed,  a  good-natured  giant,  girded 
with  a  cartridge  belt,  smiled  as  he  re- 
plied : 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  wearing  a  watch  which 
the  company  gave  me  for  standing  off  the 
James  gang  in  Missouri  for  half  an  hour, 
when  we  hadn't  a  ghost  of  a  soldier  about. 
I'll  take  the  contract,  and  welcome,  to  hold 
this  fort  alone." 

"Very  well,"  said  Sinclair.  "Foster, 
what  progress  have  you  made  ?  " 

"Major,  I've  got  ten  or  fifteen  as  good 
men  as  ever  drawed  a  bead,  and  just  red- 
hot  for  a  fight." 

"That  will  do  ver>^  well.  Conductor, 
give  the  trainmen  the  rifles  from  the  bag- 
gage car  and  let  them  act  under  Mr.  Foster. 
Now,  boys,  I  am  sure  you  will  do  your 
duty.     That  is  all." 


By  America7i  Authors.  187 

From  the  next  station  Sinclair  tele- 
graphed "All  ready"  to  the  superintendent, 
who  was  pacing  his  office  in  much  suspense. 
Then  he  said  a  few  words  to  his  brave  but 
anxious  wife,  and  walked  to  the  rear  plat- 
form. On  it  were  several  armed  men,  who 
bade  him  good-evening,  and  asked  "when 
the  fun  was  going  to  begin."  Walking 
through  the  train,  he  found  each  platform 
similarly  occupied,  and  Foster  going  from 
one  to  the  other.  The  latter  whispered  as 
he  passed  him  : 

"Major,  I  found  Arizona  Joe  the  scout, 
in  the  smokin'  car,  and  he's  on  the  front 
platform.  That  let's  me  out,  and  although 
I  know  as  well  as  you  that  there  ain't  no 
danger  about  that  rear  sleeper  where  the 
madam  is,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  far  off  from 
her."  Sinclair  shook  him  by  the  hand; 
then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half- 
past  eight.  He  passed  through  the  baggage 
and  express  cars,  finding  in  the  latter  the 
agent  sitting  behind  his  safe,  on  which  lay 
two  large  revolvers.  On  the  platform  car 
he  found  the  soldiers  and  their  commander, 
sitting  silent  and  unconcerned  as  before. 
When  Sinclair  reached  the  latter  and  nodded, 
he  rose  and  faced  the  men,  and  his  fine  voice 
was  clearly  heard  above  the  rattle  of  the 
train. 

* '  Company,  '  t^ntion  I ' '  The  soldiers 
straightened  themselves  in  a  second. 

"  With  ball  cartridge,  load  !''  It  was  done 


1 88  Capital  Stones 

with  the  precision  of  a  machine.  Then  the 
heutenant  spoke,  in  the  same  clear,  crisp 
tones  that  the  troops  had  heard  in  more  than 
one  fierce  battle. 

"  Men,"  said  he,  "in  a  few  minutes  the 
Perry  gang,  which  you  will  remember,  are 
going  to  try  to  run  this  train  off  the  track, 
wound  and  kill  the  passengers,  and  rob  the 
cars  and  the  United  States  mail.  It  is  our 
business  to  prevent  them.  Sergeant  Wil- 
son "  (a  gray-bearded  non-commissioned 
ofiBcer  stood  up  and  saluted),  "  I  am  going 
on  the  engine.  See  that  my  orders  are  re- 
peated. Now  men,  aim  low,  and  don't  waste 
any  shots."  He  and  Sinclair  climbed  over 
the  tender  and  spoke  to  the  engine  driver, 
who  received  the  news  with  great  non- 
chalance. 

"How  are  the  air-brakes  working?" 
asked  Sinclair. 

"  First-rate." 

"Then,  if  you  slow  down  now,  you  could 
stop  the  train  in  a  third  of  her  length, 
couldn't  you?  " 

"  Easy,  if  you  don't  mind  being  shaken 
up  a  bit." 

"That  is  good.  How  is  the  country 
about  the — xth  mile-post." 

"  Dead  level,  and  smooth." 

"  Good  again.  Now,  Lieutenant  Halsey, 
this  is  a  splendid  headlight,  and  we  can  see 
a  long  way  with  my  night-glass,  I  will  have 
a " 


By  American  Authors.  189 

' ' — 8th  mile-post  just  passed, ' '  interrupted 
the  engine  driver. 

' '  Only  one  more  to  pass,  then,  before  we 
ought  to  strike  them.  Now,  lyieutenant,  I 
undertake  to  stop  the  train  within  a  very 
short  distance  of  the  gang.  They  will  be  on 
both  sides  of  the  track,  no  doubt ;  and  the 
ground,  as  you  hear,  is  quite  level.  You 
will  best  know  what  to  do." 

The  officer  stepped  back.  "Sergeant,"" 
called  he,  * '  do  you  hear  me  plainly  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

'  *  Have  the  men  fix  bayonets.  When  the 
train  stops,  and  I  wave  my  sword,  let  half 
jump  off  each  side,  run  up  quickly,  and 
form  line  abreast  of  the  engine — not  ahead."" 

*  *  Jack, ' '  said  Sinclair  to  the  engine  driver, 
"  is  your  hand  steady  ?  "  The  man  held  it 
up  with  a  smile.  "Good.  Now,  stand  by 
your  throttle  and  your  air-brake.  Lieuten- 
ant, better  warn  the  men  to  hold  on  tight^ 
and  tell  the  sergeant  to  pass  the  word  to 
the  boys  on  the  platforms,  or  they  will  be 
knocked  off  by  the  sudden  stop.  Now  for  a 
look  ahead  ! ' '  and  he  brought  the  binocu- 
lar to  his  eyes. 

The  great  parabolic  head-light  illuminated 
the  track  a  long  way  in  advance,  all  behind 
it  being  of  course  in  darkness.  Suddenly 
Sinclair  cried  out  : 

"  The  fools  have  a  light  there,  as  I  am  a 
living  man  ;  and  there  is  a  little  red  one 
near  us.     What  can  that  be?      All  ready^ 


I  go  Capital  Stories 

Jack  ?  By  heavens  !  they  have  taken  up 
two  rails.  Now,  holdoji,  all !   Stop  her  !  !" 

The  engine-driver  shut  his  throttle-valve 
with  a  jerk.  Then,  holding  hard  by  it,  he 
sharply  turned  a  brass  handle.  There  was 
a  fearful  jolt— a  grating — and  the  train's 
way  was  checked.  The  lieutenant,  stand- 
ing sidewise,  had  drawn  his  sword.  He 
waved  it,  and  almost  before  he  could  get  off 
the  engine,  the  soldiers  were  up  and  form- 
ing, still  in  shadow,  while  the  bright  light 
was  thrown  on  a  body  of  men  ahead. 

"Surrender,  or  you  are  dead  men!" 
roared  the  officer.  Curses  and  several  shots 
were  the  reply.  Then  came  the  orders, 
quick  and  sharp  : 

' '  Forwai'd  !  Close  2ip  I  Double-quick  f 
Halt!     Fire!" 

*  *  *  It  was  speedily  over.  Left  on  the 
car  wdththe  men,  the  old  sergeant  had  said  : 
"Boys,  you  hear.  It's  that  old  Perry 
gang.  Now  don't  forget  Larry  and  Charley 
that  they  murdered  last  year,"  and  there 
had  come  from  the  soldiers  a  sort  of  fierce, 
subdued  growl.  The  volley  was  followed 
by  a  bayonet  charge,  and  it  required  all 
the  officer's  authority  to  save  the  lives  of 
even  those  who  "threw  up  their  hands." 
Large  as  the  gang  was  (outnumbering  the 
troops),  well-armed  and  desperate  as  they 
were,  every  one  was  dead,  wounded,  or  a 
prisoner  when  the  men  who  guarded  the 
train  platforms  ran  up.     The  surgeon,  with 


By  American  Authors.  191 

professional  coolness,  walked  up  to  the 
robbers,  his  instrument  case  under  his  arm. 

* '  Not  much  for  me  to  do  here,  Lieu- 
tenant, ' '  said  he.  ' '  That  practice  for  Creed- 
moor  is  telling  on  the  shooting.  Good 
thing  for  the  gang,  too.  Bullets  are  better 
than  rope,  and  a  Colorado  jury  will  give 
them  plenty  of  that. ' ' 

Sinclair  had  sent  a  man  to  tell  his  wife 
that  all  was  over.  Then  he  ordered  a  fire 
lighted,  and  the  rails  relaid.  The  flames 
lit  a  strange  scene  as  the  passengers  flocked 
up.  The  lieutenant  posted  men  to  keep 
them  back. 

' '  Is  there  a  telegraph  station  not  far 
ahead,  Sinclair?"  asked  he.  "Yes?  All 
right."  He  drew  a  pad  from  his  pocket, 
and  wrote  a  dispatch  to  the  post  commander. 

' '  Be  good  enough  to  send  that  for  me, ' ' 
said  he,  "and  leave  orders  at  Barker's  for 
the  night  express  eastward  to  stop  for  us, 
and  to  bring  a  posse  to  take  care  of  the 
wounded  and  prisoners.  And  now,  my 
dear  Sinclair,  I  suggest  that  you  get  the 
passengers  into  the  cars,  and  go  on  as 
soon  as  those  rails  are  spiked. '  When  they 
realize  the  situation,  some  of  them  will  feel 
precious  ugly,  and  you  know  we  can't  have 
any  lynching." 

Sinclair  glanced  at  the  rails  and  gave  the 
word  at  once  to  the  conductor  and  brake- 
man,  who  began  vociferating,  ' '  All  aboard ! ' ' 
Just  then  Foster  appeared,  an  expression  of 


192  Capital  Stories 

intense  satisfaction  showing  clearly  on  his 
face,  in  the  firelight. 

"  Major,"  said  he,  **  I  didn't  use  to  take 
much  stock  in  special  Providence,  or  things 
being  ordered  ;  but  I'm  wrong  if  I  don't 
believe  in  them  from  this  day.  I  was  bound 
to  stay  where  you  put  me,  but  I  was  un- 
easy, and  wild  to  be  in  the  scrimmage  ;  and, 
if  I  had  been  there,  I  wouldn't  have  taken 
notice  of  a  little  red  light  that  wasn't  much 
behind  the  rear  platform  when  we  stopped. 
When  I  saw  there  was  no  danger  there,  I 
ran  back,  and  what  do  you  think  I  found  ? 
There  was  a  woman,  in  a  dead  faint,  and 
iust  clutching  a  lantern  that  she  had  tied 
up  in  a  red  scarf,  poor  little  thing  !  And, 
Major,  it  was  Sally  !  It  was  the  little  girl 
that  loved  me  out  at  Barker's,  and  has  loved 
me  and  waited  for  me  ever  since !  And 
when  she  came  to,  and  knew  me,  she  was 
so  glad  she  'most  fainted  awaj^  again  ;  and 
she  let  on  as  it  was  her  that  gave  away  the 
job.  And  I  took  her  into  the  sleeper,  and 
the  madam,  God  bless  her  ! — she  knew  Sally 
before  and  was  good  to  her — she  took  care 
of  her,  and  is  cheering  her  up.  And  now, 
Major,  I'm  going  to  take  her  straight  to 
Denver,  and  send  for  a  parson  and  get  her 
married  to  me,  and  she'll  brace  up,  sure 
pop." 

The  whistle  sounded,  and  the  train  started. 
From  the  window  of  the  "  sleeper  "  Sinclair 
and  his  wife  took  their  last  look  at  the  weird 


By  American  Authors.  193 

scene.  The  lieutenant,  standing  at  the  side 
of  the  track,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Sinclair's  pretty  face,  and 
returned  her  bow.  Then,  as  the  car  passed 
out  of  sight,  he  tugged  at  his  moustache 
and  hummed — 

"Why,  boys,  why. 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys. 
Whose  business  'tis  to  die  ?" 

In  less  than  an  hour,  telegrams  having  in 
the  mean  time  been  sent  in  both  directions, 
the  train  ran  alongside  the  platform  at 
Barker's ;  and  Watkins,  imperturbable  as 
usual,  met  Sinclair,  and  gave  him  his  letters. 

**  Perry  gang  wiped  out,  I  hear,  Major," 
said  he.  "Good  thing  for  the  country. 
That's  a  lesson  the  *  toughs'  in  these  parts 
won't  forget  for  a  long  time.  Plucky  girl 
that  give  'em  away,  wasn't  she?  Hope 
she's  all  right." 

*'  She  is  all  right,"  said  Sinclair,  with  a 
smile. 

''  Glad  of  that.  By-the-way,  that  father 
of  her'n  passed  in  his  checks  to-night. 
He'd  got  one  warning  from  the  Vigilantes, 
and  3^esterday  they  found  out  he  was  in  with 
this  gang,  and  they  was  a-going  for  him  ; 
but  when  the  telegram  come,  he  put  a  pistol 
to  his  head  and  saved  them  all  trouble. 
Good  riddance  to  everybody,  I  say.  The 
sheriff' s  here  now,  and  is  going  east  on  the 
next  train  to  get  them  fellows.  He's  got  a 
big  posse  together,  and  I  wouldn't  wonder 


1 94  Capita  I  Stories 

if  they  was  hard  to  hold  in,  after  the  *  boys 
in  blue  '  is  gone. ' ' 

In  a  few  minutes  the  train  was  off,  with 
its  living  freight, — the  just  and  the  unjust, 
the  reformed  and  the  rescued,  the  happy 
and  the  anxious.  With  many  of  the  pas- 
sengers the  episode  of  the  night  was  already 
a  thing  of  the  past.  Sinclair  sat  by  the 
side  of  his  w^ife,  to  whose  cheeks  the  color 
had  all  come  back  ;  and  Sally  Johnson  lay 
in  her  berth,  faint  still,  but  able  to  give  an 
occasional  smile  to  Foster.  In  the  station 
on  the  Missouri  the  reporters  were  gathered 
about  the  happy  superintendent,  filling 
their  note-books  with  items.  In  Denver, 
their  brethren  would  gladly  have  done  the 
same,  but  Watkins  failed  to  gratify  them. 
He  was  a  man  of  few  words.  When  the 
train  had  gone,  and  a  friend  remarked  : 

"Hope  they'll  get  through  all  right, 
now,"  he  simply  said  : 

"Yes,  likely.  Two  shots  don't  most 
always  go  in  the  same  hole."  Then  he 
"went  to  the  telegraph  instrument.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  could  have  told  a  story  as  wild 
as  a  Norse  saga^  but  what  he  said,  when 
Denver  had  responded,  was  only  — 
.    "  No.  1 7 ,  fifty- five  mi7iiUes  late. ' ' 


By  American  Authors.  195 


EPISTOLARY   CRAZY-WORK. 

BY  FRED.    C.   VAI^KNTINE. 


Auburn,  August  2d,  '83. 
My  own  dear  Jennie. 

It  is  very  simple.  All  I  did  was 
to  write  to  several  dry-goods  houses  request- 
ing samples  of  evening  silks  at  from  $2  to 
seven  $  a  yard.  Lots  of  them  came  ;  some 
mean  people  did  not  answer,  others  who 
were  inexpressibly  mean  and  sent  their 
samples  glued  to  stiff  card-board,  are  not 
worth  mentioning.  My  pieces  are  nearly 
used  up,  therefore  I  sent  out  a  new  batch  of 
letters  yesterday.  My  quilt  will  be  finished 
before  October.  The  work  is  very  easy, 
and  the  material  costs  only  postage.  Cheap, 
eh  ? — Any  new  conquests  ? 

With  much  love, 

BULALIA. 


196  Capital  Stories 

II. 

Robert  Anderson.  James  Duih^v. 

ANDERSON  &  DUDLEY. 

8310    BROA.ID>wV.A.Y, 


My  dear  Jim. 

Your  order  1404  rec'd.  Really  am 
glad  you  went  on  the  road.  Also  glad  j^our 
health  has  improved. 

B}^  the  wa}',  am  awfully  bothered  by 
girls  writing  for  samples.  Three  days  ago 
rec'd  enclosed  letter  from  Miss  Eulalia 
Eccles,  Auburn,  N.  Y.  Sent  samples.  As 
you  see  by  it,  she  is  daughter  of  Hon.  Jere- 
miah Eccles.  When  you  go  to  Auburn  see 
if  you  cannot  make  an  example  of  her. 
Your  partner  and  friend, 

Bob. 

III. 

My  own  dear  Eulalia  : — 

You  are  a  genius.  I  have  not 
"booked  the  idea"  but  put  it  into  imme- 
diate execution.  I  will  inform  you  what 
success  I  have. 

Your  devoted 

Jennie. 

Bridgeport,  Saturday,  Aug.  4,  '83. 


By  American  Authors,  197 

IV. 


ANDERSON  &  DUDLEY.  8310  Broadway. 

New  York.  Aug.  6th,  '83. 
Dear  Jim, 

Just  this  postal-card  to  tell 
you  that  since  writing  you  yesterday^ 
have  received  ajiother  request  for  ^'sam- 
ples. ' '  This  one  is  from  Miss  Jennie 
Reron,  Bridgeport.  Will  the  nuisance 
ever  stop  f — /  will  seiid  pieces,  but  hope 
that  you  will  make  it  your  biz.  to  look 
her  up  and  do  what  you  can. 

Yours, 

Bob. 


198  Capital  Stories 

V. 

On  the  Road,  Aug.  8,  '83. 

Dear  Bob  : — 

Yours  of  5tli  and  6th  rec'd.  Will 
look  up  the  sample  young  ladies.  Expect 
large  orders  next  week.  Regards  to  all. 
Write  me  to  Auburn. 

Yours, 

Jim. 

VI. 

OFFICE    OF 

JEREMIAH    ECCLES, 

Attorney  and  Counsellor-at-Law. 

In  answer  to  yours  of 

A2ibur7i,  N.  v., iSS 


Oh  Jennie 

Did  3-0U  ever  feel  like  a  murderer, 
or  a  thief,  or  a  dynamiter  or  some  other 
wicked  thing  ?  And  know  you  were  guilty  ? 
Oh,  what  s/ia/l  I  do?  You  know,  even  if 
Papa  is  a  lawyer  and  was  a  judge,  of  course 
he  can't  keep  me  out  of  prison  if  I  am 
guilty,  can  he  ?  This  is  terrible.  Let  me 
tell  3'ou  all  about  it. 

I    wanted    just    three    skeins    more    of 
shaded  floss  for  that  awful  crazy  quilt,  and 


By  American  Authors.  199 

went  to  Bodenheimer's  to  get  it.  When  I 
went  in,  there  was,  what  I  then  thought, 
rather  a  handsome  man  talking  with  Mr. 
Bodenheimer. 

Young  Jimpson,  that  ugly  thing  with 
freckles  all  over  his  face,  waited  on  me,  and 
was  as  affably  obtrusive  and  as  disagreeably 
polite  as  only  such  an  article  can  be.  And 
then  the  stupid  thing  said :  ' '  Miss  Kccles, 
shall  I  send  them  ?  Anything  else,  Miss 
Eccles  ?  Is  your  crazy- work  quilt  finished, 
Miss  Eccles?" 

I  did  not  answer  him,  could  not  move, 
for  I  saw  the  man  who  was  talking  with 
Mr.  Bodenheimer  look  at  me,  take  a  letter 
from  his  pocket  (just  as  somebody  in 
Esmeralda  did)  and  ask  Mr.  Bodenheimer 
something. 

Mr.  Bodenheimer  glanced  at  me  and 
said:     *'Yes,  Mr.  Dudley." 

Now  I  am  sure  that  that  horrible 
Mr.  Dudley  is  something  to  Anderson  and 
Dudley,  and  that  the  letter  he  had,  was  my 
letter  asking  for  samples. 

I  am  frightened  to  death  ;  he  looks  like 
a  man  who  would  stop  at  nothing, — still  I 
•cannot  tell,  you  see,  my  dear  Jennie,  I  am 
not  as  good  a  judge  of  the  genus  homo  as  you 
are. 

I  stood  in  the  store,  looking  at  the 
show-cases  as  a  person  who  is  about  to  be 
hung  might  be  looking  at  the  gallows,  I 
presume.     I  soon  felt  that  I  was  making  a 


200  Capital  Stories 

show  of  myself,  so  I  exercised  our  preroga- 
tive, pricing,  or  do  you  spell  it  priceing? 
— somehow  neither  of  them  looks  exactly 
right  to  me. 

I  woke  to  consciousness  through  an  excla- 
mation of  surprise  from  that  stupid  Jimpson, 
whose  freckles  disappeared  for  once  under 
intense  blushes — his  red  neck-tie  looked 
pale  compared  to  his  face.  I  do  not  know 
what  I  asked  for,  cavalry  boots  it  may  have 
been,  or  pistols,  or,  perhaps,  even  pantaloons. 

All  I  know  is  that  I  am  here,  at  Papa's 
office,  and  have  not  the  remotest  idea  of 
what  brought  me.  Fortunately^  Papa  is  out 
— oh,  if  he  discovers  the  matter  I  am  ruined 
— he'll  make  me  pay  for  the  samples  or — 
horrors — he  may  compel  me  to  apologize  ! 

Do  you  think  that  that  Mr.  Dudley— he 
has  very  large  brown  eyes  and  is  somewhat 
pale — I  just  hate  pale  men — do  you  think 
that  Mr.  Dudley  will  have  me  arrested  ? 
Would  not  that  be  dreadful ! 

Jennie,  I  wish  you  were  here.  Write  to 
me  immediately  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  do. 
You  are  three  months  older  than  I,  and 
have  more  knowledge  of  the  world.  Help 
your  distressed 

EULALIA. 

P.  S.  I  will  not  return  the  pieces  of 
silk,  would  you  ?  I  think  I  am  feverish. 
I  will  go  home  and  have  Ma  send  for 
Dr.   Brinner. 


By  American  Authors, 
VII. 

Physician    and    Surgeon. 


Office  Hours  : 

8  TO   lO  A.  M 

4   TO      6   P.    M.        c^ 


^uburq,JC.V.,..}0:_.vm. 


20I 


B 


Tr.   Valerian     .  .  f^j 

"     Asafcetid    .  .  .  f^u] 

Spts.  aeth.  conip.  .  .    f  ^  v 

Elix.  simpl.  .     .  .  .   f  ^  ij 


M.D.S. 
Teaspoonful  every  half  hour. 


For 


Miss  Eidalia  Ecdes. 


.  1 

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o 

< 

s 

p:^ 

<  \ 

1    i 

xr^i? 

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w 

Wo 

202  Capital  Stories 

VIII. 

THIS   PAPER   HAS    THE    LARGEST    CIRCULATION    OF    ANY    PAPER 
IN  THE   NEW  ENGLAND   STATES. 


•^ *  JOHN  Q.  RERON, 

SEE    ADVERTISING      '  EDITOR  AND   PROPRIETOR. 

Rates  on  Back  of 

THIS  Sheet.  ^-t-j  .  ^^-. 

ifi .^  nndgeport,  Conn., i88^ 

Saturday  night. 

My  poor,  dear  Eulalia  : 

Your  3'esterda3^'s  letter  was  evi- 
dently written  under  great  excitement,  or 
else  you  would  not  have  forgotten  yourself 
so  far  as  to  say  that  I  am  three  months  older 
than  you.  I  did  not  like  to  tell  5'ou  so 
before,  but  when  we  were  in  N.  Y.  last 
winter,  everybody  thought  that  3-0U  looked 
fully  two  3^ears  m}^  senior.  But  I  will  for- 
give 3'ou,  owing  to  your  trouble. 

Of  course  I  want  to  advise  you  as  to  the 
best  course  to  be  pursued,  and,  therefore,  I 
took  your  letter  to  Mrs.  Bradel}-,  whom  I 
like,  although  she  does  dress  better  than  I, 
and  I  laid  the  whole  matter  before  her. 

After  mature  deliberation,  we  have  con- 
cluded that  the  pale  Mr.  Dudley,  with  the 
large,  brown  eyes,  may  not  have  thought  of 
the  samples,  and  that  his  glance  at  you, 
which  your  conscience  misconstrued,  was 
nothing  but — ah,  well,  Kulalia  dear,  you 
are  not  accustomed  to  being  admired. 


I 


By  American  Authors.  203 

However,  supposing  that  he  really  is 
insane  enough  to  annoy  you  about  such  a 
trifle,  there  are  several  ways  for  you  to 
checkmate  him.  One  you  might  try  first — 
have  your  Papa  swear  out  a  warrant,  or  a 
habeas  corpus  or  a  caveat — he  will  know 
what  is  best — and  then  have  Mr.  Dudley 
locked  up  as  a  dangerous  lunatic.  If  you 
do  not  like  the  publicity,  although  I  do  not 
see  why  a  lawyer's  daughter  should  fear 
anything,  then  try  to  buy  him  off,  and  if 
that  cannot  be  done,  there  will  be  but  one 
way  left  to  get  rid  of  him — marry  him. 
The  latter  is  an  extreme  measure,  to  be 
adopted  only  when  all  else  fails,  and  pro- 
viding that  he  presents  no  serious  obstacle, 
such  as  a  wife  or  other  encumbrance,  a 
hunch  or  a  crooked  nose,  or  some  kindred 
variance  from  the  ordinary  run  of  mortals. 

Hoping,  my  dearest  Bulalia,  that  I  will 
receive  immediately  a  recital  of  how  you 
got  rid  of  the  horrid  nightmare,  I  am,  with 
much  love,  your  true  and  devoted  friend, 

Jennie. 

P.S.  If  they  should  bother  me  about 
the  samples,  I  will  give  them  a  very  exten- 
sive piece  of  my  mind.  How  can  they 
expect  to  do  business  if  they  will  not  be 
obliging  ?  I  will  get  Papa  to  abuse  them 
terribly  .n  the  Nutmeg. 

J. 


204  Capital  Storiet 

IX. 


(£•(£• 


Monday  eve. 

Dear  Jennie  : 

I  hardly  know  how  to  designate 
your  letter  of  Saturda3\  I  have  often 
deplored  your  tendency  to  frivolity,  but  this 
letter  exceeds  anything  you  have  ever  per- 
petrated. Only  delicacy  on  my  part  has 
prevented  m}^  telling  3'ou  that  when  we 
were  out  together  last,  everybody  comment- 
ed upon  3^our  good  appearance  by  remark- 
ing how  young  3^ou  looked  to  have  a 
daughter  as  old  as  myself. 

Your  showing  my  letter  to  Mrs.  Bradely 
is  nothing  less  than  a  breach  of  trust,  a  very 
serious  charge,  which  only  my  affection  for 
3'ou  prevents  me  from  pressing.  The  idea  ! 
that  Mrs.  Bradely,  who  has  nothing  in  her 
favor  except  her  pretty  face  and  a  very  fair 
taste  in  dressing,  and  a  sweet  baby,  that 
dear  little  hone^'-bug  Ethel.  I  wonder  how 
in  the  world  Mr.  Bradel}^  ever  married  her  I 
I  know  him  very  well ;  Papa  foreclosed  a 
mortgage  for  him  at  Mount  Vernon  last 
3^ear  and  I  went  with  him. 

But  Jennie,  I  am  more  than  surprised 
at  the  disrespectful  manner  in  which  you 
speak  of  Mr.    Dudley    of    Anderson    and 


By  American  Authors.  205 

Dudley.  I  know  that  he  is  a  gentleman 
and,  if  I  can  forgive  your  disagreeable 
reflections  upon  me,  I  can  only  say  that  I 
am  very  sorry  that  you  should  make  sport 
of  poor  Mr.  Dudley's  pale  complexion.  He 
is  quite  ill  and  I  have  induced  him  to  spend 
his  summer  vacation  here,  which  he  will  do. 
He  is  out  with  Papa  now,  attending  to 
some  important  law-matters,  and  as  I  expect 
them  in  to  late  tea,  I  will  close,  hoping  you 
will  be  very  careful  in  the  future  how  you 
express  yourself  about  a  gentleman  you 
have  never  seen. 

Your  friend, 

KULAIvIA. 

X. 


Anderson  &  Dudley 

§rg  (ioobs, 

8310    BROADWAY, 


MEMORANDUM. 

fg  Miss  Jennie  Reron 
Bridgeport, 

Conn. 


AM:...15,./J'J{^ 


Dear  Miss  : — 

If  you  have  determined  to  make 
no  selection  from  the  samples  of  silk  mailed 
you  Aug.  6th,  will  you  please  return  them 

Yours,  very  repectfully, 

Anderson  &  Dudi^ey. 


2o6  Capital  Stories 

XI. 


Bridgeport,  Aug.  17,' 8^ 
Messrs.  Ayiderson  &  Dudley. 


Gentlemeyi :  If  you  will 
send  vie  your  bill  for  the  samples  of  silk 
kindly  sent  vie  on  the  sixth,  I  will  take 
pleasure  in  sending  you  a  viojiey-order 
for  the  amoicnt,  as  I  wish  to  keep  the 
samples.  y^^^^,^^  ^^^^ 

fennie  Re7'on. 


XII. 

MEMORANDUM. 

FROM  ,  ■   y^^^  Tames  Dudley 

Anderson  &  Dudley     *" 

Auburn, 


8310    BROADWAY. 


N.Y. 


Dear  Jim  : 

Have  heard  nothing  from  you  since 
your  telegram  of  the  9th.  What  is  the 
matter  ?  If  3'ou  are  dead  sa}^  so,  but  break 
it   to   me  gently.     Joking   aside,    I  hardly 


By  American  Authors.  207 

think  it  is  quite  the  thing  to  leave  me  in 
ignorance.  Do  not,  my  dear  fellow,  imagine 
for  a  moment  that  I  am  displeased  at  receiv- 
ing no  orders  from  5^011,  but  I  am  anxious 
about  your  health. 

Please  to  answer  on  receipt. 

Yours  aff., 

Bob. 
XIII. 

Auburn,  N.  Y. 

Telegram  ^^  Anderson  &  Dudley, 

83TO  Broadway. 

Memorandum    nineteenth    received.     Am 
perfectly  well.    Busy  making  example 
of  sample  Send.    Particulars  by  mail. 
15  Paid.  James  Dudley. 

XIV. 

Quick  Sales  and  Small  Profits. 

BODKNHKIIVEER   &   CO., 

(No  connection  ivith  any  house  of  a  similar  name.) 

Dry  Goods,  Fancy  Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes,  Cutlery, 

AGENTS    FOR    DEMOREST'S    PATTERNS. 

Auburn,  N.Y., 

^Ug.    2J?. i^gg^ 

Messrs.  Anderson  8l  Dudi^ky,  N.  Y. 

GentIvEmen  :— Enclosed  please  find 
order  sheets  1405,  1406,  1407  and   1408,   to 
which  you  will  give  immediate  attention. 
Yours,  &c.,     j^,j^3  Dudley. 


2o8  Capital  Stories 

[Personal  to  R.  Anderson.] 

My  dear  Bob  : 

I  reall}^  do  not  know  liow  to  begin 
this  letter  ;  for  the  first  time  since  our  boy- 
hood do  I  feel  hesitancy  in  expressing  my- 
self to  you — 3'ou  who  have  alwa^^s  been  my 
confidant.  Yet  I  presume  that  the  only  way 
to  do  a  thing  is  to  do  it,  therefore  I  will  at- 
tempt to  be  as  succinct  as  possible. 

I  arrived  here  on  the  loth  and,  of  course, 
looked  up  Bodenheimer  first.  Order  1405 
shows  what  I  did  with  him.  While  I  was 
talking  to  him,  I  heard  one  of  his  clerks 
mention  Miss  Eccles  ;  I  looked  up  and  saw 
— well  I  will  not  attempt  a  description. 
Bodenheimer  told  me  that  this  vision  was 
Miss  Eulalia,  our  fair  sampler. 

For  the  first  time  in  m}^  life  did  I  feel  an- 
noyed at  being  seen  in  traveling  garb  ;  3'et 
I  determined  that  I  would  allow  no  foolish 
idea  to  interfere  with  business,  and  I  agreed 
with  you  thoroughly,  that  though  this 
sampling  is  a  small  matter  in  itself,  in  the 
aggregate  it  amounts  to  something.  There- 
fore, I  set  aside  all  considerations,  and  after 
making  mj'self  as  presentable  as  possible, 
called  on  the  3'oung  lady. 

I  was  deeply  pained  to  hear  that  she  was 
ill,  could  not  receive  visitors — and  Bob,  had 
you  seen  her,  you  would  have  agreed  with 
me  that  though  she  might  steal  samples, 
she  would  not  lie.  I  left  my  address,  c/o 
Bodenheimer  ;  whv  I  did  so  I  do  not  know. 


By  American  Authors.  209 

But  Bob,  it  is  better  to  tell  the  whole  truth, 
and,  therefore,  I  will  confess  to  you  that  I 
wrote  on  the  card  :  ' '  Hope  that  Miss  Bccles 
will  soon  recover."  This,  of  course,  was 
wrong  in  me,  both  as  a  business  man  and  as 
a  man  of  society.  But  one  will  sometimes 
do  absurd  things,  especiall}^  when  dealing 
with  a  thief  so  very  pretty  as  my  thief. 

How  little  I  have  attended  to  biz.  is 
shown  by  the  very  few  orders  I  send — I 
will  not  attempt  to  say  how  I  have  spent 
my  time. 

On  the  following  Monday  (13th)  I  re- 
ceived a  note,  which,  being  from  a  ladj^,  it 
would  be  wrong  for  me  to  show  even  you. 
The  result  was  that  at  2  p.  m.  I  called  on 
Miss  Eccles. 

She  came  into  the  parlor,  and  was  so 
filled  with  the  fear  that  I  came  to  do  terrible 
things  to  her,  that  I  forgot  all  about  the 
object  of  my  visit  and  went  vigorously  to 
work  consoling  her. 

To  cut  the  matter  short,  I  have  conclu- 
ded that  Miss  Eulalia  Eccles  is  a  consum- 
mate thief,  for  she  has  stolen 

Your  partner, 

Jim. 

By  the  way,  Bob,  the  above  conclusion 
is  somewhat  premature.  I  confess  that  I  am 
captivated — that  does  not  mean  that  she  is 
— I  wish  she  were.  Now  you  will  under- 
stand my  silence.     I  expect  a  derisive  letter 


2IO  Capital  Stories 

from  you  ;  pitch  in,  old  fellow,  I  will  bear 
3'our  abuse  calmly — no,  I  will  take  it  to  Miss 
Eccles,  perhaps  she  will  console  me. 

J. 

XV. 

Robert  Anderson.  James  Dudley. 

ANDERSON  &  DUDLEY, 
8310  broad^?vay, 

Mr.  James  Dudley, 

Auburn  . 
Dear  Sir  : 

We  are  in  receipt  of  your  favor 
of  the  23d,  enclosing  order  sheets  Nos.  1405, 
1406,  1407  and  1408,  which  will  receive  our 
immediate  attention.  While  we  cannot  but 
deplore  the  paucity  of  business  in  Auburn, 
we*  fully  appreciate  the  circumstances  which 
have  prevented  it,  as  will  be  seen  in  private 
note  to  3^ou  by  our  Mr.  R.  Anderson,  which 
is  enclosed  with  this,  and  we  are. 
Yours,  etc., 

Anderson  &  Dudley. 


[Personal  to  James  Dudley.] 

My  dear  Jim  : 

The   intense   heat  which    prevails 
would  prevent  my   answering  3'our  private 


By  A merican  Authors .  211 

note  of  23d  were  it  not  that  it  contains  a 
matter  of  surpassing  importance. 

And  therefore  I  take  off  my  collar, 
which  is  as  wilted  as  yesterday's  flower, 
look  at  the  ice-cooler  (what  an  asinine  name 
— as  if  it  were  destined  to  cool  ice),  plant 
myself  before  my  desk  and  answer  you  at 
length. 

1 .  This  is  a  serious  matter  and  requires 
time,  therefore,  if  you  will  send  back  your 
samples  (except  such  as  Miss  Eccles  may 
wish)  and  will  take  your  summering  at 
Auburn,  it  will  do  you  much  good,  and  you 
will  return  here  a  new  man. 

2.  I  will,  if  you  so  desire,  express  you 
your  other  clothes — shall  I  send  your  ulster? 

3.  You  need  not  go  to  Bridgeport ; 
delicate  matters,  such  as  fair  sample-pirates, 
will  be  looked  after  by  the  senior  partner  of 
Messrs.  A.  &  D. 

4.  No  biz.  here.  You  need  not  hurry 
back. 

5.  Bradstreet  reports  your  future  fath- 
er-in-law at  $1,800,000. 

6.  Bye-bye. 

Bob. 

I  received  an  impudent  little  note  from 
Bridgeport.  I  will  show  you  how  business- 
man manage  these  matters. 


212  Capital  Stories 

XVI. 


ANDERSON  &  DUDLEY.  8310  Broadway. 


New  York,  Aug.  26,  '8j. 

Miss  Reron, 

Bridgeport. 
Our  Mr.  Anderson  will  call  01 
yon  personally    in    ans.   to  your  favor 
of  the  17th  inst. 

c 

Resp'  ly, 

Anderson  &  Dudley. 


By  American  Authors.  213 

XVII. 
FOR  SADDLES  GO  TO  BODENHEIMER'S. 


This  Evening  the  Rev.  Mr.  P.  R.  Day,  President  of  the 
Columbian  Institute  for  the  Cure  of  Chronic  Diseases,  and 
Pastor  of  the  Seventh  Presbyterian  Church  of  New  York, 
will  lecture  at  the  Atheneum  on 

BIBI.ICAI.   POETIC  THOUGHTS, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Charity  Department  of  the  Columbian 
Institute.    Tickets,  at  Bodenheimer  &  Co.'s  and  at  the  door, 
50c.     Reserved  seats,  75c.  ltd 

PUBLIC  WEAL. 

T.  XENOPHON  SIBBRY, EDITOR. 

Auburn,  N.  Y.,  August  29th,  1883. 


A  BRAVE  MAN. 

We  spare  our  readers  an  editorial  repetition  of  the 
details  of  the  accident  which  threatened  to  rob  our 
fair  city  of  one  of  its  fairest  daughters  yesterday- 
afternoon,  but  take  great  pleasure  in  signalizing 
the  unexampled  bravery  of  Mr.  James  Dudley, 
junior  partner  of  the  well-known  New  York  dry- 
goods  merchants,  Anderson  &  Dudley,  whose  ad- 
vertisement appears  on  our  last  page. 

From  the  news  columns  of  Public  Weal  our 
readers  will  learn  that  as  Mr.  Dudley  was  leaving 
the  house  of  the  Hon.  J.  Eccles,  in  a  buggy  in 
which  he  and  Miss  Eulalia  Bccles  were  to  take  a 
drive,  a  youth  rushed  towards  the  horse,  which  be- 
came frightened  and  ran  off.  With  rare  skill,  Mr. 
Dudley  directed  the  unmanageable  animal  towards 
a  tree  on  Main  street  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
throw  the  weight  of  the  left  side  of  the  buggy,  on 
which  he  sat,  against  the  tree. 


214  Capital  Stories 

The  vehicle  was  demolished,  but  Mr.  Dudley 
grasped  Miss  Eccles  and  shielded  her  from  harm, 
while  he  received  some  very  severe  bruises  on  the 
left  side  of  his  head,  his  left  arm  and  side.  He  was 
carried  to  Mr.  Eccles'  house  and  is  being  carefully 
nursed  there.  Dr.  Brinner  assures  us  that  none  of 
Mr.  Dudley's  bones  are  broken,  and  that  he  will  be 
able  to  enjoj'  all  of  the  diversions  which  our  city 
offers  within  a  week  or  ten  days. 

The  unfortunate  youth  who  was  the  cause  of  the 
accident  is  Morris  Jimpson,  one  of  the  clerks  of 
Messrs.  Bodenheimer  &  Co.,  who  seems,  from  his 
record,  to  have  a  special  genius  for  getting  himself 
and  others  into  trouble.  It  appears  that  he  no- 
ticed that  a  rein  had  become  detached  from  the 
horse's  bit  and  blustered  up  to  replace  it. 

We  hope  that  our  comment  on  young  Jimpson's 
erratic  conduct  will  not  be  attributed  to  the  fact 
that  he  is  the  sou  of  the  editor  of  an  alleged  daily 
paper,  which  we  believe  is  published  in  this  city ; 
but  as  we  never  stoop  to  personalities  we  feel  safe 
in  informing  all  that  we  shall  take  no  notice  of 
any  vulgar  attacks  made  on  us  because  of  the  truth- 
ful manner  in  which  we  publish  the  news. 

Yet  it  might  be  pro  bono  publico  if  the  aforesaid 
editor  were  to  tie  up  his  scion  with  a  short  rope, 
and  thus  prevent  him  from  frightening  horses  and 
endangering  the  lives  of  respectable  and  respected 
people. 

XVIII. 

Bridgeport,  Friday. 
My  dear  Eulalia. 

I  was  too  angr}^  with  you  to  answer 
your  last  letter,  but  now  that  a  misfortune  has 
befallen  you,  as  I  see  by  the  Public  Weal  oi 


By  America7i  Authors.  215 

the  29th,  I  feel  that  I  can  do  nothing  less 
than  go  to  help  you  nurse  poor  Mr.  Dudley. 
I  give  you  my  word,  my  dear  Bulaha,  that 
I  am  very  glad  that  Mr.  Dudley  is  not 
severely  injured. 

Were  it  not  my  duty  to  go  to  you  now,  I 
would  remain  at  home,  for  I  received  a 
postal  card  from  Mr.  Anderson  a  few  days 
ago,  in  which  he  threatened  to  call  on  me 
about  those  samples.  His  writing  is  so 
pretty  that  I  am  quite  anxious  to  see  him. 

Expect  me  by  the  afternoon  train. 
Your  true  friend, 

Jknnie. 

P.S. — If  Mr.  Anderson  should  go  to  Au- 
burn to  look  after  his  injured  partner,  would 
it  not  be  j  ust  too  peculiar  ? 

XIX. 

I  €•€•  I 

Auburn,  Sept.  3,  '83. 

My  dkar  Bob  : 

I  am  a  bruised  man  (for  details  see 
Public  Weal  which  I  send  with  this)  and 

let  me  tell  you  the  whole  story. 

When  the  buggy  struck  the  tree,  or 
shortly  thereafter,  I  lost  consciousness  and 


2i6  Capital  Stories 


came  to  myself  in  this  room  in  Mr.  Eccles* 
house  ;  Eulalia  was  holding  my  head  in  her 
arms  and  weeping.  I  heard  her  sweet  voice 
say  :  "  You  must  not  die,  ni}^  darling.  Oh, 
m}^  love,"  and  I  did  not — to  oblige  her.  I 
did  not  become  conscious,  that  is  to  say,  I 
allowed  no  one  to  discover  that  I  knew  what 
was  going  on,  until  that  wretch.  Dr.  Brin- 
ner,  lifted  my  eyelids  and  after  staring  at 
me  a  moment,  winked  in  a  most  atrocious 
manner. 

I  then  endeavored  to  take  Eulalia' s 
hand,  but  found  that  I  could  barely  move — I 
did  not  care  to  move. 

Eulalia,  my   angel,    says  she  will  report 
me   to   the   doctor   if   I   continue   writing, 
therefore  I  will  leave  the  rest  to  her. 
Yours, 

jIM. 


Dear  Mr.  Anderson  : 

James  insists  that  I  shall  call  you 
"Bob,"  or  at  least  Robert,  but  I  cannot  do 

that yet.     It  would  not  be  at  all  proper, 

would  it  ? 

Will  you  forgive  me,  Mr.  Anderson?  I 
did  not  think  what  I  was  doing  when  I  de- 
frauded you  and  James  of  a  few  samples, 
but  I  am  neither  ashamed  nor  repentant  for 
having  stolen  your  partner.  For  the  latter 
I  can  make  restitution.  My  dear  friend 
Miss  Jennie  Reron  is  here,  helping  me  nurse 


By  American  Authors.  217 

James,  the  poor  darling  ;  I  am  sure  you  will 
like  her. 

We  want  you  to  come  here.  James 
says  there  is  no  reason  for  your  remaining 
in  New  York  during  the  hot  weather,  and 
you  promised  him  to  make  an  example  of 
the  other  sample  thief.     She  is  here. 

My  dear  James  says  that  Dr.  Brinner 
deserves  to  be  caned  for  divulging  that  he 
was  conscious  when  I  thought  that  he  was 
dying,  and  therefore  wishes  you  to  get  the 
finest  gold-headed  walking-stick  you  can 
and  have  it  engraved 

FROM    HIS   GRATEFUL 

£ulalia  and  James  Oudley. 

We  will  present  it  to  him  on  our  wed- 
ding-day. Please  to  bring  it  with  you — the 
cane,  I  mean. 

Papa  sends  you  his  compliments,  and 
says  that  you  must  come  directly  to  our 
house  and  remain  with  us  until  your  return 
to  New  York. 

James  saj's  that  you  can  rely  upon  Mr. 
Collins  to  conduct  the  business,  and  that 
you  are  to  be  here  by  next  Saturday.  We 
expect  no  answer  from  you  otherwise  than 
in  person. 

Your  happy  friend, 

KUI^ALIA  ECCI.KS. 


2i8  Capital  Stories 

XX. 


EcCLES — DuDLHY. — At  the  residence  of  the  bride's 
father,  on  Thursday,  Sept.  20th,  1883,  by  the  Rev.  P.  R. 
Day  of  New  York,  Mr.  James  Dudley  of  New  York  to 
Miss  Eulalia  Eccles,  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Jeremiah 
Eccles  of  Auburn,  N.  Y. 


?1.R. 

^e^^-T^^e   ^^^■e^<^<^^c^ 

1 

1 
i 

1 

( 

-^J^'^'^/   Q_^/^'7^t^e4-d<^'^C^ 

) 

By  A  ^nerica7i  A  uthors.  219 

XXL 


ROBERT  ANDERSON.  )  NeW  HOX.  J    ECCLES,  Aubum.     \  anp-,-„l, 

JAMES  DUDLEY.        J  York.  JOHN  Q  RERON,  Bridgep't.  J  »?«''**'»• 


ANDERSON.  DUDLEY  &  CO., 

ANDERSON,  DUDI^EY  &  CO., 

will  on  November  first,  1883,  open  the 

— o New  Firm's  New  Establishment, o — 

at  8308,  8310,  8312,  8314,  8316  and  8)18  Broadway, 
^  with  an  enormous  stock  of  g 

M  Staple  and  Fancy  ^ 

Uo o o o o oN 

H  •  DRV  aooD.ci  DRV  nonnci  •  »< 


1 o O" 

"o o 

DRY  GOODS 

DRY  GOODS 

DRY  GOODS 

DRY  GOODS 

i o o.. 

.  .0 o I 

►d 


o o o o o o  ^ 

s  selected  especially  for  O 

<  THE  HOLIDAY   TRADE.  W 

u  o to 

The  attention  of  Ladies  is  especially  directed  to  our 
New  (Patented) 

i      EULALIA-JENNIE  PACKET      j 


which  contains  One  Thousand  Samples  of  Silks,  no  two  of 
which  are  alike  iu  color,  size  or  shape. 
These  packets  are  intended  to  supply  the  great  demand 
for  material  for  CRAZY-WORK,  the  latest  and  most  aesthetic 
form  of  needle- work. 

PRICE,  P  EACH  ;  SIX  FOR  $17.50. 

The  Trade  Supplied.     Orders  by  mail  will  receive 

prompt  attention. 

8308,  8310,  8312,  8314,  8316  AND  8318  BROADWAY, 

New  York. 


220  Capital  Stories 

DR.     HEIDEGGER'S    EXPERIMENT. 

BY    XATHANIEIv    HAWTHORNE. 

That  ver>^  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger, once  invited  four  venerable  friends  to 
meet  him  in  his  study.  There  were  three 
white-bearded  gentlemen — Mr.  Medbourne, 
Colonel  Killigrew  and  Mr.  Gascoigne — and 
a  withered  gentlewoman  whose  name  was 
the  widow  Wycherh*.  They  were  all  mel- 
anchoh^  old  creatures  who  had  been  unfor- 
tunate in  life,  and  whose  greatest  misfortune 
it  was  that  they  were  not  long  ago  in  their 
graves.  Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the  vigor  of 
his  age,  had  been  a  prosperous  merchant, 
but  had  lost  his  all  b}^  a  frantic  speculation, 
and  was  now  little  better  than  a  mendicant. 
Colonel  Kilhgrew  had  v»'asted  his  best  years 
and  his  health  and  substance  in  the  pursuit 
of  sinful  pleasures  which  had  given  birth  to 
a  brood  of  pains,  such  as  the  gout  and 
divers  other  torments  of  soul  and  bod3\ 
Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a  ruined  politician,  a 
man  of  evil  fame — or,  at  least,  had  been  so 
till  time  had  buried  him  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  present  generation  and  made 
him  obscure  instead  of  infamous.  As  for 
the  widow  Wycherl}^,  tradition  tells  us  that 
she  was  a  great  beaut}^  in  her  da}^  but  for  a 
long  while  past  she  had  lived  in  deep  seclu- 
sion on  account  of  certain  scandalous  stories 
which   had  prejudiced   the   gentry   of  the 


By  A merica n  Authors.  221 

town  against  her.  It  is  a  circumstance 
worth  mentioning  that  each  of  these  three 
old  gentlemen — Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel 
Killigrew  and  Mr.  Gascoigne — were  early 
lovers  of  the  widow  Wycherly,  and  had 
once  been  on  the  point  of  cutting  each 
other's  throats  for  her  sake.  And  before 
proceeding  farther  I  will  merely  hint  that 
Dr.  Heidegger  and  all  his  four  guests  were 
sometimes  thought  to  be  a  little  beside 
themselves,  as  is  not  infrequently  the  case 
with  old  people  when  worried  either  by 
present  troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

'  *  My  dear  old  friends, ' '  said  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger, motioning  them  to  be  seated,  ' '  I  am 
desirous  of  your  assistance  in  one  of  those 
little  experiments  with  which  I  amuse  my- 
self here  in  my  study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's 
study  must  have  been  a  very  curious  place. 
It  was  a  dim,  old-fashioned  chamber  fes- 
tooned with  cobwebs  and  besprinkled  with 
antique  dust.  Around  the  walls  stood  sev- 
eral oaken  bookcases,  the  lower  shelves  of 
which  were  filled  with  rows  of  gigantic 
folios  and  black-letter  quartos,  and  the 
upper  with  little  parchment-covered  duo- 
decimos. Over  the  central  bookcase  was  a 
bronze  bust  of  Hippocrates,  with  which, 
according  to  some  authorities,  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger was  accustomed  to  hold  consultations  in 
all  difficult  cases  of  his  practice.  In  the 
obscurest  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  tall  and 


222  Capital  Stoi'ies 

narrow  oaken  closet  with  its  door  ajar, 
within  which  doubtfully  appeared  a  skele- 
ton. Between  two  of  the  bookcases  hung  a 
looking-glass,  presenting  its  high  and  dusty 
plate  within  a  tarnished  gilt  frame.  Among 
man}'  wonderful  stories  related  of  this 
mirror,  it  was  fabled  that  the  spirits  of  all 
the  doctor's  deceased  patients  dwelt  within 
its  verge  and  would  stare  him  in  the  face 
whenever  he  looked  thitherward.  The  op- 
posite side  of  the  chamber  w^as  ornamented 
with  the  full-length  portrait  of  a  young  lady 
arrayed  in  the  faded  magnificence  of  silk, 
satin  and  brocade,  and  with  a  visage  as 
faded  as  her  dress.  Above  half  a  centur\^ 
ago  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  on  the  point  of 
marriage  with  this  young  lad}^,  but,  being 
afiected  with  some  slight  disorder,  she  had 
swallowed  one  of  her  lover's  prescriptions 
and  died  on  the  bridal  evening.  The  greatest 
curiosity  of  the  study  remains  to  be  men- 
tioned :  it  was  a  ponderous  folio  volume 
bound  in  black  leather,  with  tnassive  silver 
clasps.  There  were  no  letters  on  the  back, 
and  nobod}^  could  tell  the  title  of  the  book. 
But  it  was  well  known  to  be  a  book  of 
magic,  and  once,  when  a  chambermaid  had 
lifted  it  merely  to  brush  away  the  dust,  the 
skeleton  had  rattled  in  its  closet,  the  picture 
of  the  young  lady  had  stepped  one  foot 
upon  the  floor  and  several  ghastly  faces  had 
peeped  forth  from  the  mirror,  while  the 
brazen  head  of  Hippocrates  frowned  and 
said,  "  Forbear  !  " 


By  American  Authors.  223 

Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the 
summer  afternoon  of  our  tale  a  small  round 
table  as  black  as  ebony  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  sustaining  a  cut-glass  vase  of 
beautiful  form  and  elaborate  workmanship. 
The  sunshine  came  through  the  window 
between  the  heavy  festoons  of  two  faded 
damask  curtains  and  fell  directly  across  this 
vase  ;  so  that  a  mild  splendor  was  reflected 
from  it  on  the  ashen  visages  of  the  five  old 
people  who  sat  around.  Four  goblets  w^ere 
also  on  the  table. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr. 
Heidegger,  "may  I  reckon  on  your  aid  in 
performing  an  exceeding  curious  experi- 
ment ? ' ' 

Now,  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange 
old  gentleman  whose  eccentricity  had  be- 
come the  nucleus  for  a  thousand  fantastic 
stories.  Some  of  these  fables — to  my  shame 
be  it  spoken — might  possibly  be  traced  back 
to  mine  own  veracious  self;  and  if  any 
passages  of  the  present  tale  should  startle 
the  reader's  faith,  I  must  be  content  to  bear 
the  stigma  of  a  fiction-monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him 
talk  of  his  proposed  experiment,  they  an- 
ticipated nothing  more  wonderful  than  the 
murder  of  a  mouse  in  an  air-pump  or  the 
examination  of  a  cobweb  by  the  microscope, 
or  some  similar  nonsense  with  which  he  was 
constantly  in  the  habit  of  pestering  his  in- 
mates.    But  without  waiting  for  a  reply  Dr. 


224  Capital  Stories 

Heidegger  hobbled  across  the  chamber  and 
returned  with  the  same  ponderous  foHo 
bound  in  black  leather  which  common  re- 
port affirmed  to  be  a  book  of  magic.  Un- 
doing the  silver  clasp,  he  opened  the  volume 
and  took  from  among  its  black-letter  pages  a 
rose,  or  what  was  once  a  rose,  though  now  the 
green  leaves  and  crimson  petals  had  assumed 
one  brownish  hue  and  the  ancient  flower 
seemed  read}^  to  crumble  to  dust  in  the 
doctor's  hands. 

"  This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a 
sigh — "this  same  withered  and  crumbling 
flower — blossomed  five  and  fifty  years  ago. 
It  was  given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward,  whose 
portrait  hangs  3'onder,  and  I  meant  to  wear 
it  in  my  bosom  at  our  wedding.  Five  and 
fifty  3'ears  it  has  been  treasured  between  the 
leaves  of  this  old  volume.  Now,  would  you 
deem  it  possible  that  this  rose  of  half  a  cen- 
tury could  ever  bloom  again  ? ' ' 

'  *  Nonsense  !  ' '  said  the  widow  Wycherly , 
with  a  peevish  toss  of  her  head.  ' '  You 
might  as  well  ask  whether  an  old  woman's 
WTinkled  face  could  ever  bloom  again." 

' '  See  ! ' '  answered  Dr.  Heidegger.  He 
uncovered  the  vase  and  threw  the  faded  rose 
into  the  water  which  it  contained.  At  first 
it  lay  lightly  on  the  surface  of  the  fluid,  ap- 
pearing to  imbibe  none  of  its  moisture. 
Soon,  however,  a  singular  change  began  to 
be  visible.  The  crushed  and  dried  petals 
stirred  and  assumed  a  deepening  tinge  of 


By  ArnericaJi  Authors.  225 

crimson,  as  if  the  flower  were  reviving  from 
a  deathlike  slumber,  the  slender  stalk  and 
twigs  of  foliage  became  green,  and  there 
was  the  rose  of  half  a  century,  looking  as 
fresh  as  when  Sylvia  Ward  had  first  given  it 
to  her  lover.  It  was  scarcely  full-blowm, 
for  some  of  its  delicate  red  leaves  curled 
modestly  around  its  moist  bosom,  within 
which  two  or  three  dewdrops  were  spark- 
ling. 

' '  That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  decep- 
tion," said  the  doctor's  friends — carelessl}^, 
however,  for  thej^  had  witnessed  greater 
miracles  at  a  conjurer's  show.  "  Pray,  how 
was  it  effected  ?  ' ' 

'  *  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  Fountain  of 
Youth?"  asked  Dr.  Heidegger,  "which 
Ponce  de  Leon,  the  Spanish  adventurer,  went 
in  search  of  two  or  three  centuries  ago  ?  ' ' 

*'But  did  Ponce  de  Leon  ever  find  it?" 
said  the  widow  Wycherly. 

"No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "for  he 
never  sought  it  in  the  right  place.  The 
famous  Fountain  of  Youth,  if  I  am  rightly 
informed,  is  situated  in  the  southern  part 
of  the  Floridian  peninsula,  not  far  from 
Lake  Macaco.  Its  source  is  overshadowed 
by  several  gigantic  magnolias  which,  though 
numberless  centuries  old,  have  been  kept  as 
fresh  as  violets  by  the  virtues  of  this  won- 
derful water.  An  acquaintance  of  mine, 
knowing  my  curiosity  in  such  matters,  has 
sent  me  what  you  see  in  the  vase. ' ' 


226  Capital  Stories 

'  'Ahem  ! ' '  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who 
believed  not  a  word  of  the  doctor's  story  ; 
' '  and  what  ma}^  be  the  effect  of  this  fluid  on 
the  human  frame?  " 

' '  You  shall  j  udge  for  yourself,  my  dear 
colonel,"  replied  Dr.  Heidegger.  "And  all 
of  you,  my  respected  friends,  are  welcome 
to  so  much  of  this  admirable  fluid  as  may 
restore  to  3'ou  the  bloom  of  3'outh.  For  m}^ 
own  part,  having  had  much  trouble  in  grow- 
ing old,  I  am  in  no  hurr}^  to  grow  young 
again.  With  3'Our  permission,  therefore.  I 
will  merely  watch  the  progress  of  the  ex- 
periment." 

While  he  spoke  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been 
filling  the  four  goblets  with  the  water  of 
the  Fountain  of  Youth.  It  was  apparently 
impregnated  with  an  effen^escent  gas,  for 
little  bubbles  were  continually  ascending 
from  the  depths  of  the  glasses,  and  bursting 
in  silvery  spray  at  the  surface.  As  the 
liquor  diffused  a  pleasant  perfume  the  old 
people  doubted  not  that  it  possessed  cordial 
and  comfortable  properties,  and  though  utter 
skeptics  as  to  its  rejuvenescent  power,  they 
were  inclined  to  swallow  it  at  once.  But 
Dr.  Heidegger  besought  them  to  sta^^  a 
moment. 

"  Before  3-ou  drink,  my  respectable  old 
friends, ' '  said  he,  * '  it  would  be  well  that, 
with  the  experience  of  a  life-time  to  direct 
you,  you  should  draw  up  a  few  general  rules 
for  your  guidance  in  passing  a  second  time 


By  Ainerica7i  Authors.  227 

through  the  perils  of  youth.  Think  what 
a  sin  and  shame  it  would  be  if,  with  your 
peculiar  advantages,  you  should  not  become 
patterns  of  virtue  and  wisdom  to  all  the 
young  people  of  the  age  ! ' ' 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made 
him  no  answer  except  by  a  feeble  and  trem- 
ulous laugh,  so  very  ridiculous  was  the  idea 
that,  knowing  how  closely  Repentance 
treads  behind  the  steps  of  Error,  they  should 
ever  go  astray  again. 

''  Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing  ; 
"  I  rejoice  that  I  have  so  well  selected  the 
subjects  of  my  experiment." 

With  palsied  hands  they  raised  the  glasses 
to  their  lips.  The  liquid,  if  it  really  pos- 
sessed such  virtues  as  Dr.  Heidegger  im- 
puted to  it,  could  not  have  been  bestowed 
on  four  human  beings  who  needed  it  more 
wofully.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  never 
known  what  youth  or  pleasure  was,  but  had 
been  the  offspring  of  Nature's  dotage,  and 
always  the  gray,  decrepit,  sapless,  miserable 
creatures  who  now  sat  stooping  round  the 
doctor's  table  without  life  enough  in  their 
souls  or  bodies  to  be  animated  even  by  the 
prospect  of  growing  young  again.  They 
drank  off  the  water  and  replaced  their  gob- 
lets on  the  table. 

Assuredly,  there  was  an  almost  immediate 
improvement  in  the  aspect  of  the  party, 
together  with  a  sudden  glow  of  cheerful 
sunshine,  brightening  over  all  their  visages 


228  Capital  Stories 

at  once.  There  was  a  healthful  suffusion 
on  their  cheeks  instead  of  the  ashen  hue 
that  had  made  them  look  so  corpse-like. 
They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that 
some  magic  power  had  really  begun  to 
smooth  away  the  deep  and  sad  inscriptions 
which  Father  Time  had  been  so  long  en- 
graving on  their  brows.  The  widow  \Vy- 
cherly  adjusted  her  cap,  for  she  felt  almost 
like  a  woman  again. 

* '  Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water, ' ' 
cried  thej^  eagerl3\  "  We  are  younger,  but 
w^e  are  still  too  old.  Quick  !  give  us  more  ! ' ' 

' '  Patience,  patience  ! ' '  quoth  Dr.  Hei- 
degger, who  sat  watching  the  experiment 
with  philosophic  coolness.  "You  have 
been  a  long  time  growing  old ;  surely  3^ou 
might  be  content  to  grow  3^oung  in  half  an 
hour.  But  the  water  is  at  your  service." 
Again  he  filled  their  goblets  with  the  liquor 
of  youth,  enough  of  which  still  remained 
in  the  vase  to  turn  half  the  old  people  in 
the  city  to  the  age  of  their  own  grand- 
children. 

While  the  bubbles  wxre  3'et  sparkling  on 
the  brim,  the  doctor's  four  guests  snatched 
their  goblets  from  the  table  and  swallowed 
the  contents  at  a  single  gulp.  Was  it  delu- 
sion ?  Even  while  the  draught  was  passing 
down  their  throats  it  seemed  to  have 
wrought  a  change  on  their  w^hole  systems. 
Their  eyes  grew  clear  and  bright ;  a  dark 
shade  deepened  among  their  silvery  locks  ; 


By  American  Authors,  229 

they  sat  around  the  table,  three  gentlemen 
of  middle  age  and  a  woman  hardly  beyond 
her  buxom  prime. 

*  *  My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming  ! ' ' 
cried  Colonel  Killigrew,  whose  eyes  had 
been  fixed  upon  her  face  while  the  shadows 
of  age  were  flitting  from  it  like  darkness 
from  the  crimson  daybreak. 

The  fair  widow  knew  of  old  that  Colonel 
Killigrew' s  compliments  were  not  always 
measured  by  sober  truth  ;  so  she  started  up 
and  ran  to  the  mirror,  still  dreading  that  the 
ugly  visage  of  an  old  woman  would  meet 
her  gaze. 

Meanwhile,  the  three  gentlemen  behaved 
in  such  a  manner  as  proved  that  the  water 
of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  possessed  some 
peculiar  qualities — unless,  indeed,  their  ex- 
hilaration of  spirits  were  merely  a  lightsome 
dizziness  caused  by  the  sudden  removal  of 
the  weight  of  years.  Mr.  Gascoigne's  mind 
seemed  to  run  on  political  topics,  but 
whether  relating  to  the  past,  present  or 
future  could  not  easily  be  determined,  since 
the  same  ideas  and  phrases  have  been  in 
vogue  these  fift}"  years.  Now  he  rattled 
forth  full-throated  sentences  about  patriot- 
ism, national  glory  and  the  people's  right  ; 
and  now,  again,  he  spoke  in  measured  ac- 
cents and  a  deeply  deferential  tone,  as  if  a 
royal  ear  were  listening  to  his  well-turned 
periods.  On  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
Mr.  Medbourne  was  involved  in  a  calcula- 


230  Capital  Stories 

tion  of  dollars  and  cents  with  which  was 
strangely  intermingled  a  project  for  supply- 
ing the  East  Indies  with  ice  by  harnessing 
a  team  of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs.  As 
for  the  w^dow  Wycherh',  she  stood  before 
the  mirror  courtesy ing  and  simpering  to  her 
own  image  and  greeting  it  as  the  friend 
whom  she  loved  better  than  all  the  world 
besides.  She  thrust  her  face  close  to  the 
glass  to  see  w^hether  some  long-remembered 
wrinkle  or  crows-foot  had  indeed  vanished  ; 
she  examined  whether  the  snow  had  so  en- 
tirely melted  from  her  hair  that  the  vener- 
able cap  could  be  safely  thrown  aside.  At 
last,  turning  briskly  away,  she  came  with 
a  sort  of  dancing  step  to  the  table. 

"My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "pray 
favor  me  with  another  goblet." 

' '  Certainly,  my  dear  madam — certainly, ' ' 
replied  the  complaisant  doctor.  *  *  See  !  I 
have  already  filled  the  goblets." 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  goblets 
brimful  of  this  wonderful  water,  the  delicate 
spray  of  which,  as  it  effervesced  from  the 
surface,  resembled  the  tremulous  glitter  of 
diamonds. 

It  was  now  so  nearly  sunset  that  the 
chamber  had  grown  duskier  than  ever,  but 
a  mild  and  moonlike  splendor  gleamed  from 
within  the  vase  and  rested  alike  on  the  four 
guests  and  on  the  doctor's  venerable  figure. 
He  sat  in  a  high -backed,  elaborately  carved 
oaken   arm-chair   with    a   gray  dignity  of 


By  Anie7'ica7i  Authors.  231 

aspect  that  might  have  well  befitted  that 
very  Father  Time  whose  power  had  never 
been  disputed  save  by  this  fortunate  com- 
pany. Kven  while  quaffing  the  third 
draught  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth,  they 
were  almost  awed  by  the  expression  of  his 
mysterious  visage.  But  the  next  moment 
the  exhilarating  gush  of  young  life  shot 
through  their  veins.  They  were  now  in  the 
happy  prime  of  youth.  Age,  with  its  mis- 
erable train  of  cares  and  sorrows  and  dis- 
eases, was  remembered  only  as  the  trouble 
of  a  dream  from  which  the}^  had  joyously 
awoke.  The  fresh  gloss  of  the  soul,  so 
early  lost  and  without  which  the  world's 
successive  scenes  had  been  but  a  gallery  of 
faded  pictures,  again  threw  its  enchantment 
over  all  their  prospects.  They  felt  like  new- 
created  beings  in  a  new-created  universe. 

* '  We  are  young  !  We  are  young  ! ' '  they 
cried,  exultingly. 

Youth,  like  the  extremity  of  age,  had 
effaced  the  strongly-marked  characterivitics 
of  middle  life  and  mutually  assimilated 
them  all.  They  were  a  group  of  merry 
youngsters  almost  maddened  with  the  ex- 
uberant frolicsomeness  of  their  years.  The 
most  singular  effect  of  their  gayety  was  an 
impulse  to  mock  the  infirmity  and  decrepi- 
tude of  which  they  had  so  lately  been  the 
victims.  They  laughed  loudly  at  their  old- 
fashioned  attire — the  wide-skirted  coats  and 
flapped  waistcoats  of  the  young   men  and 


232  Capital  Stories 

the  ancient  cap  and  gown  of  the  blooming 
girl.  One  limped  across  the  floor  like  a 
gouty  grandfather  ;  one  set  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles astride  of  his  nose  and  pretended  to 
pore  over  the  black-letter  pages  of  the  book 
of  magic  ;  a  third  seated  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair and  strove  to  imitate  the  venerable 
dignity  of  Dr.  Heidegger.  Then  all  shouted 
mirthfully  and  leaped  about  the  room. 

Never  was  there  a  livelier  picture.  Yet, 
by  a  strange  deception,  owing  to  the  duski- 
ness of  the  chamber  and  the  antique  dresses 
which  they  still  wore,  the  tall  mirror  is  said 
to  have  reflected  the  figures  of  the  three  old, 
graA^  withered  grandsires  and  the  skinn}^ 
ugb'ness  of  a  shriveled  grandma. 

As  the}^  gamboled  to  and  fro  the  table 
was  overturned  and  the  vase  dashed  into  a 
thousand  fragments.  The  precious  Water 
of  Youth  flowed  in  a  bright  stream  across 
the  floor,  moistening  the  wings  of  a  butter- 
fly w^hich,  grown  old  in  the  decline  of  sum-  ^ 
mer,  had  alighted  there  to  die.  The  insect  ^ 
fluttered  lightly  through  the  chamber  and 
settled  on  the  snowy  head  of  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger. 

**Come,  come,  gentlemen!  Come, 
Madam  Wycherly  !  ' '  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

They  stood  still  and  shivered,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  gray  Time  were  calling  them 
back  from  their  sunny  youth  far  down  into 
the  chill  and  darksome  vale  of  years.  They 
looked  at  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  in  his 


I 


By  ATTierican  Authors.  233 

carved  arm-chair  holding  the  rose  of  half  a 
century,  which  he  had  rescued  from  among 
the  fragments  of  the  shattered  vase.  At 
the  motion  of  his  hand  the  four  rioters  re- 
sumed their  seats — the  more  readil^^  because 
their  violent  exertions  had  wearied  them, 
youthful  though  they  were. 

"  My  poor  Sylvia's  rose  !  "  ejaculated  Dr. 
Heidegger,  holding  it  in  the  light  of  the 
sunset  clouds.  "It  appears  to  be  fading 
again." 

And  so  it  was.  Even  while  the  party 
were  looking  at  it  the  flower  continued  to 
shrivel  up,  until  it  became  as  dry  and  fragile 
as  when  the  doctor  had  first  thrown  it  into 
the  vase.  He  shook  off  the  few  drops  of 
moisture  which  clung  to  its  petals. 

"I  love  it  as  well  thus  as  in  its  dewy 
freshness,"  observed  he,  pressing  the  with- 
ered rose  to  his  withered  lips. 

While  he  spoke  the  butterfly  fluttered 
down  from  the  doctor's  snowy  head  and  fell 
upon  the  floor.  His  guests  vshivered  again. 
A  strange  chillness — whether  of  the  body 
or  spirit  they  could  not  tell — was  creeping 
gradually  over  them  all.  They  gazed  at 
one  another,  and  fancied  that  each  fleeting 
moment  snatched  away  a  charm  and  left  a 
deepening  furrow  where  none  had  been  be- 
fore. Was  it  an  illusion?  Had  the  changes 
of  a  life-time  been  crowded  into  so  brief  a 
space,  and  were  they  now  four  aged  people 
sitting  with  their  old  friend  Dr.  Heidegger? 


234  Capital  Stories 

*  'Are  we  grown  old  again  so  soon  ?  ' '  cried 
they,  doleful!}'. 

In  truth,  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth 
possessed  merely  a  virtue  more  transient 
than  that  of  wine ;  the  delirium  which  it 
created  had  effervesced  awa}'.  Yes,  the^- 
were  old  again.  With  a  shuddering  im- 
pulse that  showed  her  a  woman  still,  the 
widow  clasped  her  skinny  hands  before  her 
face  and  wished  that  the  coffin-lid  w^ere  over 
it,  since  it  could  be  no  longer  beautiful. 

"Yes,  friends,  ye  are  old  again,"  said  Dr. 
Heidegger,  ' '  and  lo  !  the  Water  of  Youth 
is  all  lavished  on  the  ground.  Well,  I  be- 
moan it  not ;  for  if  the  fountain  gushed  at 
my  very  doorstep,  I  would  not  stoop  to 
bathe  my  lips  in  it — no,  though  its  delirium 
were  for  years  instead  of  moments.  Such 
is  the  lesson  ye  have  taught  me." 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught 
no  such  lesson  to  themselves.  They  resolved 
forthwith  to  m^ake  a  pilgrimage  to  Florida 
and  quaff  at  morning,  noon  and  night  from 
the  Fountain  of  Youth. 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT. 

BY  JOHN  IIABBERTON. 

"  There' S3^our  shop,"  remarked  the  driver 
of  the  very  shabby  carryall  in  which  Miss 
Eve  Lansome,  recentlv  engaged  as  teacher 


By  American  Authors.  235 

of  the  Redtuft  District  School,  was  being 
conveyed  from  a  railway  station  to  the  house 
of  Farmer  Raygin,  where  she  was  to  board 
for  the  six  months  which  at  Redtuft  consti- 
tuted the  school  year. 

*  *  Shop  ?  ' '  echoed  Miss  Lansome,  leaning 
a  little  forward,  as  if  she  had  not  rightly 
heard. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  driver,  and  then,  after 
a  pause,  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  * '  school- 
house,  I  s'pose  I  ought  'o  hevsaid." 

' '  My  school-house  !  ' '  gasped  the  young 
lady  clutching  the  back  of  the  seat  as  if  to 
support  herself  *  *  Is  that  the  building  in 
which  School  Number  One  of  the  Redtuft 
District  is  held  ?  " 

''  Cert'nly  ;  Number  Two  is  way  over  on 
t'other  side  of  the  township.  An'  there's 
yer  boardin'  place,  right  up  there  at  the 
bend  of  the  road  ;  ye  can  see  the  top  of  the 
barn  ef  ye  look  sharp  acrost  the  ridge  of  the 
rise  ;  the  house  ain't  so  high,  so  you  don't 
sight  that  till  ye  git  on  higher  ground." 

' '  Dear  me  !  ' '  murmured  Miss  lyansome. 
She  opened  her  eyes  and  regarded  the 
school-house  so  intently  that  the  driver 
stopped  his  horse,  and  said  : 

"  'Taint  exactly  like  school-houses  down 
in  York,  I  s'pose?  " 

'*  No,"  replied  Miss  I^ansome,  slowly,  "  I 
can  hardly  say  it  is." 

"  Not  quite  so  big,  p'raps  ?  " 

The  teacher's  doleful  face  lapsed  into  a 
curious  smile  as  she  answered,  * '  Not  quite. ' ' 


236  Capital  Stories 

"  Waal,"  said  the  driver,  "  taint  so  big  as 
some  I've  seen  in  this  very  country,  but  it'll 
hold  a  lot  of  folks  when  it's  put  to  it.  I've 
knowed  the  time  when  a  spellin'  school  of 
more'n  sixty  folks  on  each  side  has  stood  up 
in  that  old  school-house,  an'  yit  ther'  was 
room  for  all  them  as  wuz  spelled  down  to  do 
their  sparkin'  along  the  walls  an'  in  the 
seats.  Mebbe  some  of  'em  went  outside, 
but  'twasn't  'cause  there  wasn't  room  fur 
'em  in-doors.'' 

"  Does  it  look  inside  as  it  does  outside  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Lansome,  her  gaze  still  fixed  on 
the  reddish-brown  walls. 

"  Waal,  I  don't  hardly  know  'bout  that," 
said  the  driver  ;  then  he  turned  sidewise  in 
his  seat,  threw  his  right  leg  over  the  left, 
shifted  the  contents  of  one  protuberant 
cheek  to  the  other  side  of  his  face,  and 
dropped  into  reverie,  from  which  he  wak- 
ened, a  moment  or  two  later,  to  say — 

"  No,  I  don't  know  ez  it  does,  any  more'n 
the  inside  of  any  house  looks  like  the  out- 
side. Both  sides  kind  o'  look  ez  if  they 
might  b'long  to  each  other,  an*  5at,  when 
you  come  to  think  about  it,  they  kind  o' 
don't.    I  wish  I  could  tell  you  'xack'lyhow 

they're  alike  and  how  they  ain't,  but " 

As  the  driver  paused  he  suddenly  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  his  homely  countenance  was  ra- 
diant with  intelligence  as  he  exclaimed  : 

"  By  ginger  !  Ye  ken  make  it  all  clear  to 
yourself  in  a  minute  by  jest  gittin'  out  an' 


I 


By  American  Authors.  237 

walkin'  in.  The  door  ain't  locked — nobody 
hain't  seen  the  key  for  so  long  that  I'll  bet 
there's  some  that  believes  there  never  wasn'  t 
no  key. ' ' 

"  I  think  I  will  avail  myself  of  your  sug- 
gestion," said  the  new  teacher,  getting  out 
of  the  carryall ;  then,  seeing  the  driver  also 
about  to  alight,  she  continued  :  "  I'm  sure 
I  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding  my  way 
about  the  building  alone,  so  I  will  feel 
obliged  if  you  will  drive  on  to  Squire  Ray- 
gin's,  leave  my  trunk,  and  say  I  will  be 
there  in  a  few  minutes.  I  can  easily  walk 
the  distance." 

"  Hev  it  yer  own  way,  ma'am  ;  but  I'd 
just  as  lief  wait,  if  you  say  so.  Time  ain't 
worth  nothin'  to  me." 

"You're  very  kind,"  said  the  teacher, 
*'  but  I'd  rather  walk.  I  must  learn  the  way 
sooner  or  later,  you  know. ' '  She  said  this 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  but  the  smile  van- 
ished as  soon  as  she  turned  her  face  again 
toward  the  school-house.  A  moment  later 
she  heard  the  driver's  whip  descend  upon 
the  anatomical  antique  that  drew  the  vehi- 
cle, but  before  this  the  breeze  had  wafted  to 
her  the  sound  of  one  word — low- toned  as 
when  one  does  not  want  to  be  heard  ;  soft 
as  is  always  the  way  with  words  spoken  to 
one's  self,  yet,  for  all  that,  long-drawn  and 
distinct,  as  if  the  speaker  fully  meant  all  he 
said — it  was  the  monosyllable — 

**Gosh  !" 


238  Capital  Stories 

The  longer  the  teacher  looked  at  her  new 
post  of  dut}^,  the  longer  grew  her  counte- 
nance. Redtuft  District  School-house  Num- 
ber One  was  certainly  not  what  she  had 
expected  it  to  be.  She  had  selected  it,  in 
preference  to  another  school  that  had  been 
offered  her  at  the  *'  agency  "  in  New  York, 
because  of  its  name,  which  seemed  to  her  to 
have  a  certain  quaint  attractiveness  about 
it.  It  suggested  color,  and  natural  color, 
too,  which  is  alwa3'S  delightful  to  a  city 
born  girl — a  girl  with  yearnings  toward 
aesthetic  culture.  She  had  wondered  what 
the  name  meant ;  perhaps  a  clump  of  blaz- 
ing maples,  near  the  site  of  the  school- 
house,  or  a  thicket  of  wild  roses,  or  a  knoll 
covered  with  the  red  clover  that  looked  so 
pretty  in  the  flower  pictures  that  found  their 
way  to  the  water  color  exhibitions  every 
winter. 

But  none  of  these  things  could  she  see. 
Neither  tree,  bush,  nor  knoll  was  near  the 
building ;  the  school-house  had  been  built 
on  the  edge  of  a  bog,  in  which  were  indi- 
cations that  in  rainy  weather  a  stream  had 
flowed  near  the  house  and  across  the  road  ; 
now,  however,  in  a  dry  October  week,  the 
ground  was  merely  damp,  and  from  the 
mud  arose  many  tufts  of  marsh  grass  of 
which  the  inner  leaves  showed  traces  of 
green,  but  the  outer  ones,  which  were  dry 
and  dead,  were  a  dirty  yellowish  red. 

The  l3uilding  itself  was  a  simple  parallel- 


By  American  Authors.  239 

ogram,  one  story  high,  and  with  a  roof  so 
low  that  the  new  teacher  wondered  if  any 
of  the  youngest  pupils  could  stand  erect 
against  the  walls.  Its  foundations  were 
slender  brick  pillars,  not  very  high,  but  still 
high  enough  to  display,  under  the  building, 
a  mixed  debris  of  slates,  books,  baskets, 
straw  hats,  tin  pails,  sleds,  hand-carts,  and 
other  articles,  that  had  been  worn  out  in 
the  cause  of  popular  education  ;  there  was 
also  a  sober-looking  family  of  pigs,  whose 
mother  came  cautiously  to  the  front  to  see 
who  it  was  that  dared  invade  the  solitude  of 
her  kindergarten. 

Miss  Lansome  felt  that  a  ' '  hard  cry ' '  was 
imminent,  and  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
door  the  tears  burst  forth.  It  was  true  as 
the  man  had  said,  that  the  inside  and  the 
outside  of  the  house  *'kind  o'  looked  as  'ef 
they  might  b'long  to  each  other."  The 
walls  had  once  been  white,  and  to  be  sure 
this  color  was  still  present  as  a  background; 
but  lead-pencils,  charcoal,  red  chalk,  poke- 
berry -juice,  and  the  purplish  blue  extract  of 
the  native  huckleberry  had  been  so  freely 
used  by  the  amateur  artists  of  different 
classes  that  the  general  color  effect  greatly 
resembled  the  curious  medley  of  a  Turkish 
rug.  Miss  Lansome  had  long  been  enam- 
ored of  Oriental  art,  but  the  likeness  of 
what  she  had  admired  to  what  she  now  saw 
did  not  at  first  occur  to  her. 

On  the  wall   behind  the  platform  where 


240  Capital  Stories 

the  teacher's  desk — a  plain  pine  table — stood 
was  a  map  of  the  United  States,  as  this 
country  used  to  be  depicted  when  Michigan 
and  Minnesota  were  territories,  and  all  of 
the  country  west  of  Missouri  was  "The 
Great  American  Desert. ' '  Centred  on  the  op- 
posite wall  was  an  enormous  picture  of  an  ele- 
phant, evidently  cut  from  a  circus  poster,  but 
as  the  low  ceiling  had  made  it  impossible  to 
present  the  beast  in  his  full  proportions,  the 
legs  and  trunk  had  been  carefully  ampu- 
tated. The  color,  originally  rather  monot- 
onous, had,  by  some  critical  rural  hand, 
been  relieved  with  red  chalk,  and  the  great 
brute  provided  with  a  red  ej^e  as  big  as  a 
boy's  head.  The  desks  bore  vv^tness  of 
countless  hours  consumed  in  wood  carving 
— an  art  on  which  Miss  Lansome  had  been 
wont  to  vent  much  enthusiasm — enthusi- 
asm now  forgotten.  Indeed,  she  forgot 
everj^thing,  except  her  daj^-dreams  of  what 
her  first  school  was  to  be  ;  so  she  dropped 
into  the  teacher's  chair,  which,  in  spite  of 
her  grief,  she  observed  was  uncompromis- 
ingly hard,  placed  her  arms  on  the  table 
and  her  head  on  her  arms  and  moistened  the 
dingy  top  of  the  table  with  a  great  many 
tears. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  great  excite- 
ment at  Squire  Raj^gin's,  where  Miss  Lan- 
some was  to  board,  for  the  driver,  as  he  un- 
loaded the  truck,  informed  the  lady  of  the 
house  and  her  two  daughters  that  the  new 


By  A7nei'-ica7i  Authors.  241 

teacher  was  "ez  pretty  ez  a  peach,  ez  trim 
ez  a  cherry  saplin',  an'  ez  sweet  ez  a  dough- 
lut."  Mrs.  Ray  gin  w^as  "  dohig  up" 
iuinces,  and  she  and  her  daughters  were 
ippropriately  dressed  for  the  vv^ork,  but  she 
exclaimed : 

"  Here  gals,  drop  that  fruit  right  away, 
an'  get  into  your  Sunday  things ;  first, 
hough,  one  of  you  blow  the  horn  for  your 
father  an'  the  boys.  I'm  not  goin'  to  have 
any  such  gal  comin'  here  an,  thinkin'  we're 
common  folks."  Then  Mrs.  Raygin  pro- 
ceeded to  put  on  her  own  * '  Sunday  things. ' ' 
and  she  did  this  with  such  alacrit}^  that  by 
the  time  her  husband  reached  the  house  she 
stood  resplendent  in  a  brick- red  dress  with 
a  blue  waist,  and  a  white  lace  cap  with 
green  bow  and  yellow  strings. 

"Sakcs  alive,  Marthy  !  "  exclaimed  the 
astonished  farmer,  "why  didn't  you  let  on 
this  mornin'  that  you'd  invited  the  preacher 
to  supper  ?  ' ' 

The  old  man  was  somewhat  indignant 
when  he  was  informed  of  the  cause  of  the 
excitement,  but  he  was  nevertheless  pre- 
vailed upon  to  shave  and  change  his  shirt  ; 
he  resolutely  refused  to  put  on  his  coat, 
however.  "What's  good  enough  fur  my 
own  gals  to  see  me  in  is  good  enough  fur 
any  city  piece  to  see  me  in,"  he  declared, 
' '  even  ef  she  hez  turned  the  head  of  that 
there  harum-scarum  Nosmo  King.  Hello  ! 
— she's  a-comin'." 


242  Capital  Stories 

Every  member  of  the  family  looked  down 
the  road  from  one  window  or  another. 

"She  ^;^  7  look  just  like  the  gals  about 
here,"  remarked  Mrs.  E.aygin. 

"  It's  the  city  way  of  cuttin'  dresses  that 
makes  the  difference,"  said  the  elder  Miss 
Ray  gin. 

"  Or  the  city  way  of  wearin'  the  hair," 
said  the  younger  sister.  The  head  of  the 
family  ventured  no  comments,  but  as  the 
teacher  neared  the  house  and  the  fingers  of 
the  ladies  began  to  fidget  about  their  ov\^n 
hair  and  apparel,  the  farmer  remarked  : 

" 'Pears  to  me  it's  gettin'  kind  o'  chilh' 
as  the  sun  drops  low.  Guess  I'll  have  to 
put  somethin'  warmer  on  me."  And  he 
hastily  disappeared  as  the  ladies  went  to  the 
door  to  receive  the  nevz-comer. 

^  '-j^  ^  The  evening  meal  at  the  Raygin 
mansion  was  nearly  ended  when  a  shadow 
w^as  cast  on  the  table  from  one  of  the  dining- 
room  window^s. 

"  Wonder  who's  out  there  ?  "  mumbled 
the  lady  of  the  house.  The  old  farmer  arose, 
went  to  the  door,  looked  out,  turned  his  head 
again  toward  the  family,  and  remarked  : 

''It's  only  Nosmo,  ma." 

"Sho!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Raygin,  "I 
b'lieve  there  never  was  the  like  of  that 
feller  for  tumin'  up  when  ve  least  expect 
him." 

' '  Perhaps  he  forgot  to  put  out  something 


By  Avierlcan  Authors.  243 

of  Miss  Lansome's,  and  has  come  back  to 
bring-  it,"  suggested  the  elder  Miss  Raygin. 

"Or  perhaps,"  said  the  younger  sister 
with  a  sly  smile,  "he  didn't  forget  Miss 
Lansome  herself. ' ' 

The  teacher  looked  up  wonderingly,  and 
the  hostess  hastened  to  explain  : 

' '  The  gals  are  talkin'  about  Nosmo — the 
young  feller  that  druv  ye  over  from  the 
depot.     It's  him  that's  outside." 

"I've  not  missed  anything,  I'm  sure," 
said  Miss  Lansome.  Whatever  any  one  else 
may  have  intended  to  say  was  stopped  by 
the  spectacle  of  the  head  of  the  family  en- 
deavoring to  coax  the  young  man  to  enter 
the  house  and  partake  of  the  evening  meal, 
and  the  latter' s  desperate  efforts  to  keep  out 
of  sight  of  the  ladies,  yet  look  into  the  room. 
Miss  Lansome  was  amused,  in  a  quiet  way, 
and  on  looking  toward  her  new  hosts  she 
saw  that  they  too  were  smiling,  but  appar- 
ently at  her  rather  than  with  her.  What 
had  she  done  to  excite  merriment  ?  As  she 
wondered,  the  younger  man  succeeded  in 
getting  out  of  range  of  the  four  pairs  of  eyes 
inside,  but  all  heard  Squire  Raygin  say  : 

"Well,  Nosmo,  hev  it  yer  own  way  ;  stay 
outside  ef  ye  don't  want  to  go  in  ;  but 
'pears  to  me  that  if  I  was  gone,  all  of  a 
sudden,  on  a  city  gal,  an'  was  tuk  so  bad  ez  to 
walk  a  mile  to  look  at  her,  I  wouldn't  let  the 
thickness  of  a  wall  stan'  between  me  an  her. ' ' 

Then  the  ladies  of  the  Raygin   family 


244  Capital  Stories 

laughed,  and  Miss  Lansome  blushed,  hur- 
riedly left  the  table,  and  went  to  her  room. 
For  her  to  gain  admiration  at  short  notice 
was  not  unusual ;  she  had  been  adored  by 
all  sorts  of  chance  acquaintances  ;  should 
she,  therefore,  be  astonished  that  the  young 
farmer  who  had  been  her  coachman  during 
the  afternoon  had  deemed  her  attractive  ? 
No  !  Still,  there  were  men — and  men — and 
she  had  some  preference  as  to  the  sort  of 
person  who  should  admire  her. 

By  and  by  she  descended  to  the  "best 
room,"  in  which  she  had  first  been  received. 
It  was  empty.  So  she  passed  to  the  piazza, 
where  she  found  the  source  of  her  mortifica- 
tion— young  Xosmo  King — alone.  She  did 
not  recognize  him  at  first,  for  he  also  had 
invested  himself  with  "Sunday  things," 
and  his  loose  reddish-brown  locks  had  been 
reduced  to  exceeding  propriety.  The  air 
was  redolent  of  bergamot ;  there  was  also 
perceptible  a  strong  odor  of  tobacco,  al-  | 
though  Nosmo  King,  who  was  struggling 
with  one  of  his  trousers  pockets,  was  not  | 
smoking.  | 

The  3-oung  man  arose,  bowed  profoundly,       ^ 
and  might   have   appeared  quite   dignified 
but      for     an     occasional     half-suppressed 
wriggle. 

"  Mr.  King,  I  believe?"  said  the  j^oung 
lady  with  a  smile.  "  I  learned  your  name, 
accidentallv,  from  my  kind  entertainers 
here." 


By  American  Authors.  245 

'*  Yes, — oh, — yes,"  said  tlie  youth,  in  the 
midst  of  his  contortions  ;  ' '  that's  my  name  ; 
it's — it's — why,  of  course  it's  my  name,"  he 
continued,  in  an  excitable  manner,  as  he 
seized  the  sides  of  his  trousers  legs  and 
spread  them  as  zouaves  used  to  do  in  the 
early  days  of  the  war,  when  bagginess  of 
apparel  was  something  for  a  soldier  to  be 
proud  of. 

Miss  I^ansome  took  a  chair,  arranged  her 
drapery  as  carefully  as  if  she  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  prince,  and  said  : 

' '  Won't  you  be  seated,  Mr.  King  ? ' ' 

"Oh — yes — certainly — thank  you,"  ejac- 
ulated the  young  man,  still  comporting  him- 
self like  a  victim  of  St.  Vitus'  dance.  ' '  I 
would,  if " 

"If  what?"  asked  the  teacher,  whose 
curiosity  had  been  slovv^ly  aroused  by  the 
young  farmer's  peculiar  antics. 

"  If — if  this  darned  pipe  of  mine  wasn't 
burning  a  hole  in  me,"  said  the  ex- coach- 
man. "I  put  it  in  my  pocket  just  as  you 
came  out,  not  wan  tin'  to  smoke  before  a 
lady,  an'  I  never  knew  before  that  the  out- 
side of  a  pipe  could  be  so  hot." 

Miss  Lansome  was  taken  by  surprise,  and 
laughed  heartily.  Then  she  recovered  her- 
self enough  to  say  : 

*  *  Might  it  not  be  well  to  take  it  from 
your  pocket  and  put  it  aside  ? ' ' 

' '  Gosh  ! ' '  exclaimed  the  youth,  rising  to 
his  feet  ;   "  I  never  thought  of  that." 


246  Capital  Stories 

A  second  later  the  offending  source  of 
consolation  had  been  withdrawn  and  cast  as 
far  into  the  orchard  as  a  strong  arm  could 
throw  it ;  and  when  Mr.  King  ejaculated 
'*  Thar  !  "  and  sank  again  into  his  chair,  it 
was  with  the  air  of  a  mart3'r  who  had  over- 
come the  bitterness  of  death. 

' '  Your  baptismal  name, ' '  said  the  teacher, 
anxious  to  change  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, "has  a  foreign  sound ;  is  it  Italian  ?  " 

"Waal,  not  as  I  knows  on,"  said  the 
youth.  ' '  Kinder  funny,  the  way  I  came  to 
be  called  Nosmo.  Ye  see,  when  I  wuz  a 
baby,  the  mother  didn't  know  what  to  name 
me.  She'd  hev  liked  to  give  me  dad's  name, 
but  that  was  John,  and  ther'  wuz  so  many 
John  Kings  in  the  county  already,  that  when 
the  war  broke  out  an'  they  raised  a  com- 
pany nigh  Redtuft,  ther'  wuz  such  a  lot  of 
Johns  among  the  Kings  that  enlisted  that 
the  captain  had  to  number  'em.  Well,  I 
wuzn't  christened  for  such  an  awful  spell 
that  folks  began  to  say  they  reckoned  our 
family  wuz  a-gettin'  to  be  backsliders.  But 
all  the  time  the  mother  wuz  a-lookin'  fur  a 
new  name,  an'  at  last  she  got  it.  She  wuz 
on  a  little  steamboat  one  day,  an'  on  a  door 
of  the  back  room  of  that  there  boat  was  the 
name  '  King.'  Then  the  mother  was  dead 
bent  to  know  what  wuz  the  first  name  of 
the  puttik'lar  King  that  had  that  room. 
So  she  edged  around  an'  around  till  she  saw 
it  on  the  other  door.     It  wuz  Nosmo,  an' 


By  American  Authors.  247 

Nosmo  I  wuz  baptized  the  very  next  Sun- 
day, though  'twuz  a  rainy  day  an'  folks 
said  'twuz  a  sin  to  bring  a  young  one  out 
in  such  weather. ' ' 

"  How  strange  !  "  said  Miss  Lansome. 

"Yes,  but  that  wuzn't  the  strangest," 
continued  the  young  man.  "  'Bout  a  year 
after  that  the  mother  wuz  on  the  same  boat 
agin.  Both  doors  of  that  back  room  wuz 
shut,  an'  how  do  ye  s'pose  the  name  read? 
Why,  ''No  Smoking.'  Don't  ye  see?  — 
N-o-s-m-o  k-i-n-g." 

Miss  Lansome  w^as  overcome  by  laughter, 
which  pleased  her  admirer  greatly,  for  this 
was  his  one  joke,  and  he  had  not  been  able 
to  tell  it  to  a  new  listener  for  at  least  a  year. 
He  lingered  over  it  affectionately,  ejacula- 
ting "  No  smoking — Nosmo  King  " — alter- 
nately, until,  through  sheer  exhaustion,  his 
sole  hearer  could  laugh  no  longer.  The 
subject  of  conversation  was  finally  changed 
by  Miss  Lansome,  who  said  : 

' '  Mr.  King,  I  wonder  if  you  can  tell  me 
anything  about  the  pupils  I  am  to  have. 
Are  there  many  of  them  ?  Are  they  old  or 
young  ?     What  do  they  study  ?" 

"That's  just  what  I  w^uz  comin'  to  talk 
to  ye 'bout,"  said  Nosmo,  becoming  sober 
at  once.  "Some  of 'em  ain't  so  little  an' 
some  ain't  so  big  ;  but  the  biggest  of  'em, 
I  s'pose,  is  me." 

' '  You  ?  ' '  Miss  Lansome  was  really  sur- 
prised. 


248  Capital  Stories 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Nosmo,  rapidly.  ' '  I'  11  tell 
5'e  how  'tis  :  brother  Bill's  out  in  the  mines 
and  brother  Sam  went  to  sea,  so  I've  ben 
the  only  one  at  home  to  help  the  father 
these  five5'ears,  so  I've  missed  my  schoolin'. 
Sam  went  to  the  bottom  in  a  gale,  an'  Bill 
hez  made  a  pile  for  himself,  so  the  old  man, 
who's  old  an'  can't  last  much  longer,  is 
goin'  to  leave  me  the  farm.  It's  wuth  a 
lot  of  money,  an'  whoever  hez  owned  it  hez 
been  expected  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  feller, 
an'  I  ain't  fit  to  keep  up  the  repitation  of 
the  family  ef  I  don't  pick  up  some  idees. 
Now,  seein'  I'm  not  quite  twenty-one,  I'm 
of  school  age  and  I've  made  up  my  mind 
I'll  go  to  school  an'  do  my  level  best  to 
make  the  right  sort  of  a  man  of  myself; 
but " 

There  v/as  silence  for  a  moment  ;  it  was 
finally  broken  by  Miss  Lansome  saying  : 

"But  what?"' 

"  Wh\',  I'm  afraid  any  teacher' d  make 
fun  of  such  a  big  gawk  comin'  into  a  school- 
house." 

Miss  Lansome  arose,  stepped  to  where 
the  young  man  sat,  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  his  face  in  both  his  hands, 
and  said  : 

"  Mr.  King,  you  are  a  noble  fellow,  and 
and  if  you  come  to  my  school  I'll  teach 
you  everything  I  can." 

"Reely?"  said  the  would-be  student, 
springing  to  his  feet. 


By  American  Authors.  249 

'*  Really,"  replied  the  little  teacher,  with 
great  earnestness.    '  *  Here' s  my  hand  on  it. ' ' 

"Bless  3^e  !"  exclaimed  the  big  fellow, 
taking  the  soft  little  hand.  ' '  But  I'm  'fraid 
you'll  find  me  dull  an'  stupid  most  of  the 
time.  I  ken  break  the  wildest  colts  that 
Xravels,  an'  ther's  no  man  that  ken  beat  me 
harvestin'  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  stowin' 
books  inside  of  my  head,  I  ain't  much  to 
speak  of." 

'  *  Never  mind, ' '  said  the  teacher,  encour- 
agingly. ' '  I  will  help  you  to  the  best  of 
my  ability." 

''Will  ye,  though?  That  settles  it,  then," 
said  Nosmo,  with  a  great  sigh  as  if  a  load 
had  been  taken  off  his  mind.  ' '  I  wish  I 
knowed  hoAV  to  thank  ye,  but  I  don't."  As 
he  spoke  he  squeezed  Miss  Lansome's  hand 
tightly  to  express  his  gratitude.  Then  Mr. 
King  picked  up  his  hatfrom  the  piazza  floor, 
and  abruptly  started  to  go,  but  he  stopped 
at  the  step,  turned  round  irresoluteh',  ca- 
ressed the  brim  of  the  hat  a  moment,  and 
said: 

"  Ef  I  make  mistakes,  ez  I  guess  I'll  do 
by  the  cartload,  ye  won't  laugh  at  me,  will 
ye?  The  young  ones  in  school  will,  of 
course  ;  I  don't  mind  the^n,  but  ef  3^ou  wuz 
to  do  it  I'd — I'd — why  I'd  kind  o'  lose  my 
grip." 

**  Don't  fear,"  replied  the  teacher  kindly. 

"All  right,"  said  the  pupil,  and  departed 
suddenly  without  even  saying  "  good-bye." 


250  Capital  Stories 

As  lie  walked  away  Miss  Lansome  saw  him 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  coat  pockets,  throw 
back  his  head,  and  assume  a  gait  which, 
although  not  fashionable,  was  certainly  very 
unlike  the  shambUng  walk  of  countrymen 
in  general.  Then  the  new  teacher  resumed 
her  chair  and  informed  herself  that  at  last 
she  had  a  mission. 

Once  again  before  school  opened,  Miss 
Lansome  saw  Nosmo  King ;  it  was  at  the 
little  church  which  every  one  at  Redtuft  at- 
tended, and  he  gave  her  a  look  of  recogni- 
tion and  a  slight  toss  of  the  head  that  seemed 
intended  for  an  assurance  that  he  had  not 
changed  his  mind,  but  was  determined  to 
absorb  all  the  information  that  the  stated 
course  of  study  could  supply. 

When  the  teacher  reached  her  school- 
room on  Monday  morning,  which  she  did  at 
an  early  hour,  so  as  to  encounter  her  pupils 
singly  and  not  be  obliged  to  endure  a  gen- 
eral stare  of  scrutiny,  she  found  some 
enormous  pears  on  her  desk  and  Nosmo 
King  at  one  end  of  the  back  seat  looking  as 
if  he  was  trying  to  shrink  his  habitual 
dimensions  to  schoolboy  size.  The  teacher 
bowed  and  smiled  pleasantly,  at  which  the 
young  man  seemed  suddenly  to  lengthen 
several  inches  as  he  remarked : 

"  Come  early,  so's  not  to  be  grinned  at? 
So  did  I." 

No  conversation  ensued,  for  other  early 
arrivals  greeted  the  teacher,   who    chatted 


i 


By  Americayi  Authors.  251 

pleasantly  with  one  group  after  another,  as 
they  sidled  into  favorite  seats  ;  she  was  thus 
enabled  to  interrogate  Nosmo  without 
making  him  as  conspicuous  as  he  would 
have  been  had  she  called  him  alone  to  her 
desk.  She  looked  at  the  books  he  had 
brought,  and  suggested  that  he  examine 
each  one  during  the  day,  and  make  sure 
how  far  he  had  studied  when  a  lad,  and  how 
much  he  remembered. 

The  remainder  of  the  school-day  was  spent 
in  enrolling  the  children  and  classifying 
them.  The  largest  pupil  faded  entirely  from 
the  teacher's  mind,  except  for  a  moment  at 
noon  when  she  ate  the  pears  he  had  brought. 
When  she  started  for  home  she  was  too  tired 
to  think  of  anything  in  particular,  but  as 
she  passed  a  group  of  children  a  little  girl 
brought  the  newly  discovered  mission  to 
Miss  Lansome's  mind  by  remarking,  in  the 
teacher's  hearing  : 

"  That  great  big  Nosmo  King  didn't  do 
nothin'  all  day  but  just  gawp  at  the 
teacher." 

The  child's  companions  giggled,  and  then 
one  hissed  ' '  Sh-h-h  !  ' '  which  had  the  effect 
of  making  the  teacher's  cheeks  burn  more 
hotly  than  they  had  at  first  promised  to  do. 
She  wished  there  was  some  place  in  school 
where  the  young  farmer  could  sit  without 
seeing  her  and  occasioning  remarks.  How 
could  that  child  have  known  what  Nosmo 
was  doing,  when  the  fellow  sat  on  the  last 


252  Capital  Stories 

seat  ?  Miss  Lansome  determined  to  enforce, 
in  future,  the  normal  custom  of  "eyes 
front;"  and  yet  she  did  not  see  but  that 
would  make  it  necessary  for  Nosmo  King  to 
stare  at  her  when  he  was  not  looking  at  his 
books. 

There  were  plums  instead  of  pears  on  the 
teacher's  desk  next  morning,  and  a  small 
boy,  who  was  hungrily  contemplating  them, 
volunteered  the  information  that  ' '  Nosmo 
King  brung  'em" — a  fact  that  Miss  Lan- 
some already  guessed,  for  she  saw  that  her 
largest  pupil,  although  bent  almost  double 
over  his  desk,  was  trying  hard  to  see  her 
from  under  the  edges  of  his  eyebrows.  The 
experiment  did  not  succeed  ver>^  well;  so 
the  fellow  boldly  picked  up  his  books  and 
came  to  her  desk  to  report  progress.  When 
told  that  he  was  fully  entitled  to  a  place 
among  the  most  advanced  pupils,  he  seemed 
greatly  relieved  in  his  feelings ;  he  looked 
contemplative  for  a  moment,  and  then 
asked,  with  a  most  pathetic  expression  of 
countenance,  and  in  a  low,  appealing  tone  : 

"  Say  ;  I  don't  look  such  an  awful  lot 
bigger  than  some  of  the  biggest  boys  and 
gals,  do  I?" 

*  *  No,  indeed, ' '  replied  the  teacher.  ' '  Why, 
some  of  the  pupils  are  much  taller  than  I." 

"  Waal,"  said  Nosmo,  meditatively,  as  his 
eye  passed  over  the  teacher '  s  figure,  * '  there's 
a  good  deal  of  difference  'tween  you  an'  me, 
you  know — a  good  deal. ' '     He  turned  and 


By  Americayi  Authors.  253 

shook  his  head  doubtfully  as  he  went  back 
to  his  seat ;  Miss  Lansome  thought  she 
understood  him,  and  she  was  sure  she  was 
sorry  for  him.  In  spite  of  his  awkwardness, 
Nosmo  seemed  a  manly  fellow,  which  was 
more  than  the  teacher  could  say  of  most  of 
her  male  acquaintances.  If  he  were  only  a 
gentleman — if,  although  ignorant  of  books, 
he  knew  anything  of  the  manners  of  society, 
how  romantic  it  would  be  to  teach  him  !  It 
might  even  happen  that —  At  this  point 
the  teacher  discovered,  by  looking  at  her 
watch,  that  the  school  should  have  been 
opened  five  minutes  before. 

Out-of-doors,  the  children  teased  Nosmo 
unceasingly ;  and  no  amount  of  discipline 
could  prevent  them  laughing  derisively 
whenever  he  made  a  mistake  in  school,  but 
the  big  fellow  not  only  kept  up  with  his 
classes,  but  even  found  time  to  read  some 
books  which  Miss  Lansome  had  suggested 
would  be  useful  to  him.  Kvery  day,  too, 
he  managed  to  get  something  to  lay  on  the 
teacher's  desk.  Tokens  of  regard,  from 
pupils  to  teacher,  were  not  unusual  at  Red- 
tuft,  but  Miss  lyansome  imagined  she  could 
always  distinguish  Nosmo' s  offerings  from 
the  others.  They  were  more  abundant  in 
quantity  ;  their  quality  was  generally  better, 
and  there  was  about  them  a  variety  that  the 
presents  of  the  younger  pupils  lacked,  so 
when  she  thanked  the  supposed  giver, 
which  she  never  failed  to  do,  she  never  found 


254  Capital  Stories 

herself  mistaken.  If  she  ventured  to  admire, 
in  Nosmo's  hearing,  any  flower,  or  fruit,  or 
colored  leaf  that  was  to  be  seen  in  the  local- 
ity, she  found  a  material  reminder  of  it  on 
her  desk  in  the  morning,  and  when  one  day 
she  went  into  raptures  over  a  large  maple 
that  began  early  to  make  of  itself  a  dazzling 
mass  of  color,  nothing  but  the  limits  of  the 
school-house  prevented  Nosmo  from  bring- 
ing his  teacher  the  entire  tree. 

Later,  when  opportunity  allowed,  the 
largest  pupil  began  to  follow  his  teacher  to 
her  home.  His  chances  were  infrequent,  for 
Miss  Lansome  generally  had  several  juve- 
nile retainers,  but  when  she  happened  to  re- 
main at  the  desk  a  few  minutes  later  than 
usual,  she  could  depend  upon  seeing  Nosmo 
somewhere  near  the  roadside  as  she  walked 
homeward.  On  such  occasions  the  young 
man  always  explained  ;  he  had  either  seen 
a  fox  and  was  looking  for  its  reappearance, 
or  was  wondering  whether  Farmer  Raygin's 
tobacco  crop  was  far  enough  advanced  to  be 
cut  before  frost,  or  he  had  been  ' '  sam- 
pling ' '  apples  in  the  Raj^gin  orchard,  or  test- 
ing fences  to  see  what  would  be  best  for  a 
bit  of  his  own  land  that  needed  a  new  en- 
closure. But  his  special  occupation  always 
ended  as  the  teacher  approached  :  He  would 
allow  her  to  pass  him  ;  then  he  would  fol- 
low, at  a  few  steps'  distance,  and  begin  a 
conversation  that  compelled  Miss  Lansome 
to    turn    her    head    whenever    she   spoke. 


By  Ainericaji  Authors.  255 

Sometimes  she  would  stop  ;  then  he  would 
stand  by  her  side  and  talk  till  again  she 
moved  forward,  when  he  would  lag  behind 
at  his  original  distance. 

The  autumn  was  almost  rainless,  and 
Miss  Lansome  enjoyed  the  pure  air  and 
pleasing  alternations  of  field,  meadow,  or- 
chard and  woodland  so  much  that  she  had 
become  almost  reconciled  to  her  lot,  when 
one  morning  she  awoke  to  find  rain  pouring 
in  torrents.  The  entire  landscape  was  dis- 
mal and  the  now  familiar  road  a  sheet  of 
mud.  Miss  Lansome  ate  a  late  breakfast 
in  silence ;  she  was  wishing  for  either  New 
York  sidewalks  or  a  pair  of  rubber  boots, 
neither  of  which  were  within  reach,  when 
Mr.  Raygin  exclaimed  : 

"Sakes  alive!  if  there  ain't  Nosmo 
Kings's  fast  colt  an'  the  city  buggy  he 
don't  take  out  four  times  a  year  !  And  now 
to  bring  it  out  in  this  mud  and  rain  !  Well, 
I  never  ! ' ' 

Meanwhile  the  owner  of  the  horse  and 
buggy  had  alighted,  tied  his  spirited  ani- 
mal, thrown  robes  and  rubber  cloth  over 
the  seat  of  the  buggy,  and  entered  the 
house. 

"Good  morning,  ev'rybody,"  said  he. 
Although  his  address  was  general,  he 
looked  at  but  one,  and  to  her  he  said  : 

'*  I  thought  I'd  drive  ye  down  to  school, 
so's  you  wouldn't  git  wet.  Umbrells  ain't 
no  good  in  a  downpour  like  this." 


256  Capital  Stories 

'' Nosmo,"  said  Miss  Lansome,  '' 3^our 
intention  is  as  commendable  as  your  gram- 
mar is  bad.  I  will  be  ready  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

The  3'oung  man  drove  to  the  front  door, 
and  when  the  teacher  appeared  he  was  at 
the  step  to  shelter  her  with  an  umbrella — 
not  one  of  3^our  tiny  combinations  of  silk 
and  steel,  but  an  immense  blue  parachute — 
a  family  heirloom  that  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  made  for  the  purpose  of  shielding  a 
ha^^stack.  He  placed  the  lady  in  the  car- 
riage, threw  a  blanket  and  rubber  cloth  over 
and  about  her,  and  then  seated  himself  and 
drove  off,  covering  his  knees  as  he  went, 
with  the  still  open  umbrella. 

' '  What  a  handsome  carriage  !  ' '  exclaimed 
the  teacher,  anxious  to  please  the  3'oung 
man  who  had  been  so  thoughtful  of  her 
comfort.  "  But  what  a  shame  to  use  it  in 
all  this  rain  and  mud  !  Why  didn't  you 
use  an  older  one  in  such  weather  ?  ' ' 

' '  Waal, ' '  said  Nosmo,  wondering  whether 
Miss  Lansome  could  be  made  to  understand 
that  only  the  best  was  good  enough  for  her, 
"the  old  rockaway's  got  two  seats  !  you'd 
hev  picked  the  back  one  ;  then  you  wouldn't 
have  seen  the  storm." 

The  excuse  was  painfully  idiotic,  but  Miss 
Lansome  did  not  seem  to  realize  it,  for  she 
exclaimed : 

"  Tio you  enjoy  storms  ?  ' ' 

"Waal,"  said  Nosmo,    "I  do,   an'  then 


By  American  Atithors,  257 

ag'in  I  don't.  Them  as  comes  all  of  a  sud- 
den, an'  spiles  crops,  don't  suit  me  wuth  a 
cent,  an'  I  don't  mind  sayin  that  I'd  ez  lief 
see  a  hunk  of  Jedgment  Day  ez  a  storm  at 
the  end  of  a  day's  mowin'.  But  when  it 
comes  to  a  hard,  solid,  come-in-the-mornin'- 
an' -stay-all-day  kind  of  a  rain,  that  gives 
me  the  chance  to  git  out  the  best  that's  in 
the  barn  and  ride  to  school  alongside  o'  the 
best-lookin'  young  woman  in  the  country, 
why — gosh,  let  her  pour,  /say." 

This  view  of  storms  was  entirely  new  to 
Miss  Lansome,  and  somewhat  startling, 
too,  particularly  as  Nosmo,  after  saying  it, 
looked  straight  ahead  with  the  blank  look 
of  a  child  who  has  said  something  hastily, 
and  wonders  if  punishment  is  coming.  Miss 
Lansome  began  to  feel  so  much  embarrass- 
ment that  she  was  glad  when  the  school- 
house  door  was  reached.  Nosmo  sprang  to 
the  ground,  raised  the  great  blue  umbrella 
once  more,  and  helped  the  teacher  to  alight. 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  second  or  two, 
but  while  the  umbrella  shielded  both,  Nos- 
mo found  time  to  whisper  : 

' '  Ye  ain't  mad  at  me,  air  ye  ?  " 

Miss  Lansome  looked  up  quickly  at  the 
appealing  face,  and  answered,  with  a  smile  : 

' '  Not  in  the  least,  Nosmo  ;  I  am  very, 
very  much  obliged. ' '  Why  she  extended  a 
hand  as  she  said  this,  when  she  needed  both 
hands  to  keep  her  skirts  from  the  muddy 
steps,   she   did    not    know,    but  evidently 


258  Capital  Stories 

Nosmo  had  anticipated  the  act,  for  one  of  his 
own  hands  was  disengaged,  and  as  the 
teacher  entered  the  school  she  said  to  her- 
self that  the  oldest  pupil's  palm  was  less 
hard  and  more  warm  than  it  was  the  only 
other  time  it  had  ever  before  touched  her 
own, 

A  few  moments  later,  as  she  looked 
through  the  window  commanding  the  road, 
she  beheld  an  immense  blue  umbrella,  ap- 
parently a  relative  of  the  King  famil3^'s 
faithful  parachute  ;  it  was  so  broad  and 
convex  that  beneath  it  little  was  visible  but 
a  pair  of  boots  that  seemed  too  enormous  to 
belong  to  am^  sthool  child.  A  pair  of  boots 
carr34ng  an  umbrella  was  funny  enough  to 
laugh  at,  and  Miss  Lansome,  seizing  a  pen- 
cil, began  to  sketch  it  ;  but  looking  up  from 
her  paper  and  at  her  subject,  the  relative 
positions  of  boots  and  umbrella  had  changed 
enough  to  disclose  the  face  of  Nosmo  be- 
tween them.  What  could  it  mean  ?  Had 
she  not  left  him  at  the  door  only  two  or 
three  minutes  before  ?  How  had  he — wh}^ 
certainly  ;  how^  stupid  of  her  not  to  have 
thought  of  it ! — the  poor  fellow  had  been 
obliged  to  take  his  horse  to  shelter — prob- 
ably in  Squire  Ra^^gin's  barn,  there  being 
no  nearer  place — and  was  now  trudging 
back  through  the  rain  and  mud  !  She  just 
did  not  care,  she  told  herself  in  unteacher- 
like  language,  what  other  folks  might  think 
about  it ;  she  would  always  feel  that  Nosmo 


By  Afnen'can  Authors.  259 

had  extended  the  most  thoughtful  and  gen- 
tlemanly courtesy  she  had  ever  received. 
She  was  about  to  tear  the  half-completed 
sketch,  but  changing  her  mind  she  dashed 
in  several  dots  and  lines  where  the  face 
should  be,  scrawled  underneath,  ''A  Mod- 
ern Knight,"  and  hurriedly  placed  the 
sketch  under  the  school  register  just  as  her 
late  escort  entered  the  room.  He  looked  at 
the  teacher  rather  sheepishly  and  she  re- 
turned a  glance  that  somehow  made  Nosmo, 
when  the  first  class  in  arithmetic  was  called, 
look  wonderfully  unlike  the  great,  awkward 
fellow  who  usually  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
line. 

When  the  noon  intermission  was  an- 
nounced, Nosmo  started  hurriedly  to  leave 
the  room  ;  but  Miss  Lansome  held  up  her 
little  forefinger  warningl3^  and  the  tall  fel- 
low stopped,  saying : 

"I'll  git  ye  to  the  dinner- table  in  less'n 
ten  minutes." 

"You  must  not;  I  positive^  forbid  it  ; 
I'm  not  a  bit  hungry,"  said  the  teacher, 
swallowing  a  fib  in  lieu  of  better  food. 

Nosmo  seemed  disappointed  ;  he  fingered 
his  hat  brim  irresolutely  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  : 

"Waal,  the  hoss'U  be  hungry,  anyhow; 
I  guess  I'll  go  up  an'  give  him  a  bite." 
Again  the  teacher  saw  the  blue  cotton  um- 
brella against  the  reddish-yellow  back- 
ground of  the  muddy  road ;   she   mused  a 


26o  Capital  Stories 

moment,  took  the  sketch  from  its  hiding- 
place,  retouched  and  elaborated  the  face, 
and  might  have  worked  upon  it  during  the 
entire  noon  hour,  so  careful  and  deliberate 
was  she,  had  not  the  original  of  her  picture 
stalked  into  the  room,  his  heavy  boots 
making  noise  enough  to  attract  general  at- 
tention. He  saw  that  the  ej^es  of  all  the 
lounging,  dinner-munching  children  were 
upon  him  and  the  teacher,  but  he  kept  an 
impassive  face  as  he  placed  a  small  basket 
on  the  table,  and  said,  in  a  loud  tone. 

"Missis  Ray  gin  told  me  to  give  y^  this." 

**How  very  kind  of  her!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Lansome,  as  she  took  from  the  basket 
a  napkin  filled  with  buttered  biscuits,  sliced 
ham  and  cake.  "  Nosmo  !  "  continued  the 
teacher,  calling  back  the  young  man,  who 
had  started  for  his  seat,  and  was  already 
extracting  his  own  dinner  from  his  capacious 
pockets.  "  I  hope,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low 
tone,  as  the  j^outh  approached  her,  ' '  that 
you  did  not  ask  Mrs.  Raygin  to  put  herself 
to  this  trouble." 

"No — oh,  no,  ma'am — of  course  not," 
said  Nosmo,  quickly,  but  Miss  Lansome, 
who  had  studied  juvenile  faces  long  enough 
to  know  the  simpler  signs  of  untruthfulness, 
shook  her  head  sadly  as  the  big  pupil  hur- 
ried back  to  his  seat. 

When  school  w^as  finally  dismissed  the 
rain  still  poured  in  torrents,  so  when  Nosmo 
informed  the  teacher  that  he  would  ' '  hev 


By  America7i  Autho7's.  261 

the  colt  here  purty  soon,"  he  got  a  grateful 
smile  in  payment.  The  children  straggled 
off  home  in  little  parties,  and  the  teacher 
found  herself  alone.  She  was  half  inclined 
to  feel  impatient,  for  the  school-room,  shabby 
enough  by  sunlight,  seemed  on  this  dull 
day  a  dungeon  of  a  place.  She  had  spoken 
to  the  directors  about  it,  but  all  she  got  for 
her  pains  was  the  information  that  a  dozen 
different  ladies,  beside  one  man,  had  taught 
there,  and  that  not  one  of  them  had  ever 
complained.  She  declared  that  she  would 
renovate  the  room  at  her  own  expense  ;  she 
did  not  know  how,  but  she  would  ask  Nos- 
mo.  Why  was  it,  she  asked  herself,  that 
young  men  in  the  country  and  those  in  town 
differed  so  strangely  ?  Nosmo  had  scarcely 
reached  his  twenty-first  birthday,  yet  he 
was  tall,  strong,  manly,  self-reliant,  court- 
eous and  trustworthy,  while  her  city  ac- 
quaintances of  similar  age  were  the  reverse 
of  all  this.  If  Nosmo  did  not  butcher  the 
English  language  with  almost  every  breath, 
if  he  wore  clothing  of  modern  cut,  and 
shaved  regularly,  and  read  something  be- 
side the  Farmer' s  Companio7i,  and  knew  an 
etching  from  a  poster  cut,  he  might  make — 
some  girl — a  very  acceptable  husband.  Not 
that  she  could  be  satisfied  with  such  a  mate  ; 
that  is,  not  if — indeed,  she  did  not  see  what 
could  induce  her  to  think  for  a  moment  of 
being  a  farmer's  wife.  Nevertheless,  she 
was    heartily   sorry   for    Nosmo ;    he   was 


262  Capital  Stories 

probably  doomed  to  marry  some  good- 
natured,  stupid  country  girl,  like  one  of 
Mrs.  Raygin's  daughters,  who  thought  that 
dress  brought  refinement ;  his  unselfishness 
would  be  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Poor  fellow  !  How  did  this  world  come  to 
be  such  a  dreadful  place  for  men — and 
women  ? 

Her  reverie  was  abruptly  shortened  by 
the  sound  of  wheels  at  the  door  ;  she  must 
have  been  deeply  absorbed  in  thought  for 
him  to  have  approached  without  her  know- 
ing it. 

'*  I  will  be  ready  in  an  instant,  Nosmo," 
she  said,  turning  toward  the  nails  on  which 
hung  her  hat,  cloak,  and  water-proof  wrap. 
' '  I  have  been  very  busy ' '  (the  little  sin- 
ner!), "or  I  should  not  have  to  keep  3'ou 
waiting." 

"My  time's  yourn,"  responded  Nosmo, 
leaning  against  the  table,  and,  like  a  great 
child,  trifling  with  everything  his  fingers 
could  reach.  He  examined  the  ruler,  studied 
the  cover  of  the  inkstand,  tried  the  teacher's 
pen  on  his  thumb  nail,  and  picked  up  the  regis- 
ter, when  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  sketch 
the  teacher  had  made  of  him  and  his  um- 
brella. In  a  second  Miss  Lansome  heard 
again  the  soft,  long-drawn  "Gosh,"  and 
turning  around  she  saw  Nosmo  with  her 
drawing  in  his  hand  and  an  expression  of 
countenance  that  she  never  could  have 
imagined  possible.     She  wanted  to  laugh  at 


By  A?nerica7i  Authors.  263 

him  ;  then  she  wanted  to  cry  at  him,  but 
before  she  succeeded  in  doing  either,  the 
subject  looked  slowly  from  the  sketch  to  the 
artist,  and  did  it  so  earnestly  that  Miss 
Lansome,  silly  thing  (she  said  to  herself), 
blushed,  and  dropped  her  e3^es.  Why  could 
not  the  stupid  fellow  say  something,  instead 
of  staring  at  her  in  that  strange  way  ? 
Well,  if  he  would  not,  she  would. 

' '  That  is  a  sketch  I  made  hastily  this 
morning,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  don't 
understand  it,  but  you  mustn't  think  I  was 
making  fun  of  you.     A  knight  is — he  is — ' ' 

"  I  know  all  about  knights,"  interrupted 
Nosmo,  gravely;  "there's  a  book  about 
'em  in  our  Sunday  School  library.  An'  I'm 
more  obliged  to  ye  than  I  ever  wuz  to  any 
human  bein'." 

"I'm  so  glad  I  haven't  offended  you," 
said  the  teacher,  her  composure  returning. 
She  stepped  to  the  desk,  hastily  put  it  in 
order,  and  then  took  hold  of  the  sketch,  but 
Nosmo  did  not  relinquish  his  possession 
of  it. 

"I  must  put  it  away,"  said  Miss  Lan- 
some, smiling  pleasantly.  "  It  will  always 
remind  me  of  a  very  thoughtful  courtesy." 

"  I  don't  want  to  rob  ye,"  said  Nosmo, 
still  holding  the  sketch,  "  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  ye  the  hull  farm, 
when  its  mine,  fur  that  little  pictur'." 

The  teacher  laughed,  shook  her  head,  and 
tiig'jed  playfully  at  the  bit  of  paper. 


264  Capital  Stories 

"Ye  won't?"  said  Nosmo.  ''Then— 
though  I  s'pose  it's  no  use — I'll  put  it 
another  way. ' '  He  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow for  a  moment,  as  if  for  some  one  to 
come  and  help  him  ;  then  he  turned  his 
head  and  said  : 

"I'll  give  ye  the  old  place,  an'  the  young 
man  that  runs  it,  an'  ye  can  do  jest  what  ye 
please  with  both  of  'em  forever  and  ever,  ef 
ye' 11  give  me  a  half-interest  in  this  pictur' 
fur  life!" 

What  should  she  say  ?  She  did  not  feel 
equal  to  rebuking  the  youth — at  least  not 
while  he  stood  there  with  that  look  in  his 
eyes.  So  with  a  pleasant  smile  she  an- 
swered : 

' '  You  must  give  me  time  to  think  about 
it,  Nosmo.  I've  made  many  sketches,  but 
this  is  the  first  one  anybody  has  thought 
worth  having.  I  may  have  to  raise  the 
price,  if  it's  really  valuable.  Oh — see,  the 
sun  is  shining  again  !  Let  us  get  out  of 
this  dingy  room. "  And  the  teacher  put  the 
sketch  between  the  leaves  of  a  magazine 
and  hurried  out  to  the  carriage.  Nosmo 
followed  her ;  she  pretended  not  to  look  at 
him,  nevertheless  she  saw  that  his  face  was 
very  gloomy.  She  began  at  once  to  talk 
rapturousl}^  of  the  scenery  under  the  sun- 
light. 

"Oh,  Nosmo,  see  how  fresh  and  beauti- 
ful all  the  wild  flowers  are  after  their  bath  ! 
And    Squire    Raygin's    tobacco-plants   are 


By  American  Authors.  265 

covered  with  diamonds — don't  you  see  them 
sparkling?  And  that  flaming  maple  away 
off  yonder  in  the  swamp — oh,  oh,  oh  !  — 
when  the  ground  dries  I'll  walk  over  there, 
some  Saturday  morning,  and  feast  my  eyes. 
on  it  as  long  as  I  like." 

* '  Walk  ?  —  you  ? —  over  thar  ? —  through. 
that  bog  ?  ' '  said  Nosmo,  And  in  a  second 
he  had  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  the 
school- house. 

*'  Have  you  forgotten  something  ?  "  asked. 
Miss  Lansome. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  said  Nosmo  ;  **  but  ef  ye- 
want  to  see  that  maple,  I'm  goin'  to  drive 
ye  thar,  an'  save  yer  shoe-leather,  an'  yer 
clothes,  ari"  yer  breath,  a7i'  yer  temper  ef  ye 
happen  to  hev  one.  Why,  I  wouldn't  go 
thar  myself,  acrost  lots,  fur  the  price  of  a 
new  pair  of  boots.  There's  a  wood  road 
goes  roun'  behind  the  fields  an'  it  comes 
within  twenty  rod  of  that  very  tree." 

"What  a  handsome  horse  you  have  !  Is 
he  fast?" 

"Is  he? — ^Joe? — fast? — waal,  ef  he  bed 
just  a-heard  you  say  that,  he'd  hev  showed 
ye  whether  he  wuz  fast  or  not ;  but  I'll  just 
let  him  out  a  minute  and  give  you  a  hint 
of  what  he  can  do." 

At  a  touch  of  the  whip  Joe  gave  a  mighty 
bound  that  nearly  threw  Miss  Lansome  out 
©f  the  carriage  ;  then  he  dashed  down  the 
slightly  inclined  road  and  past  the  school- 
house.     It  seemed  to  Miss  Lansome  that  the 


266  Capital  Stories 

colt  musf  be  running  away,  but  a  glance  at 
Nosnio  reassured  her,  for  the  big  pupil  sat 
erect,  with  tightly  compressed  lips,  dis- 
tended nostrils,  eyes  wnde  open,  and  a  slight 
wrinkle  between  his  brows.  At  the  end  of 
the  field,  beyond  the  school-house,  a  narrow 
road  divided  the  fenced  ground  from  the 
woods,  and  into  this  Nosmo  guided  the 
iiorse.     The  turn  was  made  so  abruptly  that 

"the  carriage  swayed  dangerously,  and  Miss 

Xansome  screamed. 

"Don't  be  afeard,  little  woman,"  said 
l!^osmo,    "I'll  soon  make  him  know  who's 

Tuaster.     But  these  wood-roads  air  narrer, 

-an'  they  air  rough." 

And  Nosmo  was   right.     A   farm-wagon 

:miglit  be  safely  dragged  over  and  between 

'the  roots,  stumps,  logs,  and  mud  holes,  of 

Which  the  narrow  roadway  was  full,  but  a 
tight  bugg3^  drawn  by  a  runaway  horse, 
was  manifestly  out  of  place  amid  such  ob- 
structions. And  Nosmo' s  colt,  smarting 
tinder  the  indignity  of  the  whip,  evidently 
cared  neither  for  the  condition  of  the  road 
nor  the  feelings  of  the  occupants  of  the 
carriage.  The  buggy  rocked  as  if  on  rubber 
springs,  and  the  teacher  found  herself  rest- 
ing alternately  upon  the  driver  and  the  side 
of  the  carriage. 

"Hold  on — tight!"  said  Nosmo  sud- 
denly, as  the  w^heels  on  his  side  neared  a 
projecting  log.  Miss  Lansome  grasped  the 
ribs  of  the  buggy  top. 


By  American  Authors.  267 

•*  Not  there  !  "  exclaimed  Nosmo  ;  '  *  hold 
on  to  me — quick  ! ' '  The  teacher  obeyed  ; 
as  she  did  so  Nosmo' s  side  of  the  carriage 
rose,  the  driver  leaned  to  the  right ;  the 
wheels  crossed  the  log,  and  Nosmo  leaned 
slowly  back  in  the  other  direction  to  restore 
the  equilibrium.     As  he  did  so  he  said  : 

"Don't  let  go;  the  brute  has  took  the 
bit  in  his  teeth." 

"Oh,  Nosmo!"  exclaimed  Miss  Lan- 
some,    "  aren't  you  afraid  ?  " 

"'Fraid?"  echoed  the  young  farmer. 
*'  Gosh  !  w^hy  I  wouldn't  be  'fraid — not  7iow 
— ef  I  wuz  a-drivin'  a  span  of  royal  Bengal 
tigers  !  " 

But  tigers  were  not  necessary  to  test  Nos- 
mo's  courage.  Nosmo' s  colt  seemed  to  lay 
his  course  maliciously,  for  one  wheel  or 
other  was  in  air  most  of  the  time. 

"  Durn  him!"  growled  Nosmo,  as  the 
wheel  on  one  side  went  over  a  stump 
and  the  teacher  tightened  her  grasp  of  the 
brawny  figure  beside  her,  *'  ef  he  c'ud  turn 
his  head  fur  a  second  an'  see  who  wus  be- 
hind him  he'd  stop  makin'  a  fool  of  him- 
self." 

' '  Yes,  Nosmo,  so  he  would  if  he  could 
look  into  your  face." 

"I  didn't  mean  me''  said  the  driver. 
'  *  Gosh  !  The  rain  liez  floated  the  bridge 
off  o'  the  crick  !     Hold  fast,  now  !  " 

The  "crick  "  was  a  tiny  brook,  only  two 
feet  wide,  that  crossed  the  road,  and  the 


268  Capital  Stories 

bridge  consisted  merely  of  three  boards  laid 
crosswise  of  the  road,  on  two  beams.  The 
smallest  pupil  at  Redtuft  school  could  jump 
the  stream  at  any  time,  but  as  an  obstruc- 
tion to  a  light  buggy  moving  at  the  rate  of 
a  mile  in  three  minutes  or  less  it  was  serious. 
The  colt  Joe,  as  he  reached  it,  gave  an 
enormous  leap ;  as  the  animal  sprang, 
Nosmo  took  both  reins  in  his  right  hand, 
and  put  his  left  arm  around  the  teacher. 
There  was  a  crash,  Miss  Lansome  felt  her- 
self flying  through  space,  and  then — she 
found  herself  leanmg  helplessly  upon  Nosmo 
and  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break  ; 
Nosmo  was  supporting  her  quite  effectively 
with  one  arm,  and  the  colt  was  contem- 
plating both,  with  his  face  ver\^  close  to 
them,  and  Nosmo  was  addressing  his  com- 
panions alternatel}^  : 

"  Poor  little  thing,  it  wuz  an  awful  skeer, 
wuzn't  it  ?  Joe,  durn  3'er  unmannerly  hoofs. 
I'll  sell  ye  to  a  clam  peddler  'fore  ye'r  a  day 
older.  Well,  well,  she  shell  cr>^  ef  it  does 
her  good,  God  bless  her.  Joe,  ye  ort  to  be 
tied  out  in  the  brush  an'  chawed  to  death 
by  woodticks.  I  wish,  ma'am,  I  c'ud  hev 
got  all  the  skeer  an'  you  c'ud  hev  seen  all 
the  fun,  but  somehow  I  can't  skeer  at  a 
hoss." 

Then  Miss  Lansome  laughed  hysterically, 
and  disengaged  herself,  without  much  assist- 
ance from  Nosmo,  and  blamed  herself,  in 
the  most  penitent  manner  imaginable  for  the 


By  American  Authors.  269 

whole  trouble,  for  had  she  not  asked  Nosmo 
if  his  horse  was  fast?  As  Nosmo  looked 
about  at  the  wreck  he  saw  the  magazine 
Miss  Lansome  had  brought  from  the  school- 
house.  He  picked  it  up  and  the  sketch  fell 
from  it.  He  stooped  again,  the  teacher  also 
attempted  to  recover  her  property,  so,  once 
more,  two  hands  held  the  sketch.  Both 
figures  arose  at  the  same  time,  and  their 
eyes  met.  The  silence  that  followed  was 
broken  by  Nosmo  : 

' '  About  that  half  interest  I  was  speakin* 
of,  in  this  pictur' " 

"You — you  may  have  it,  Nosmo,"  said 
Miss  Lansome  ;  upon  which,  although  the 
teacher  was  quite  able  to  stand  alone,  Nos- 
mo hastened  to  support  her  with  two  arms 
instead  of  one. 


THE  LIGHTNING-ROD  MAN. 

BY   HERMAN   MELVILLE. 

What  grand  irregular  thunder,  thought  I, 
standing  on  my  hearthstone  among  the 
Acroceraunian  hills,  as  the  scattered  bolts 
boomed  overhead,  and  crashed  down  among 
the  valleys,  every  bolt  followed  by  zigzag 
irradiations,  and  swift  slants  of  sharp  rain, 
which  audibly  rang,  like  a  charge  of  spear- 
points,  on  my  low  shingled  roof.     I  suppose, 


270  Capital  Stories 

though,  that  the  mountains  hereabout  break 
and  churn  up  the  thunder,  so  that  it  is  tar 
more  glorious  here  than  on  the  plain. 
Hark  ! — some  one  at  the  door.  Who  is  this 
that  chooses  a  time  of  thunder  for  making 
calls  ?  And  why  don't  he,  man-fashion,  use 
the  knocker,  instead  of  making  that  doleful 
undertaker's  clatter  with  his  fist  against  the 
hollow  panel  ?  But  let  him  in.  Ah,  here 
he  comes.  "Good  day,  sir:"  an  entire 
stranger.  "  Pray  be  seated."  What  is  that 
strange-looking  walking-stick  he  carries  ? 
*'  A  fine  thunder-storm,  sir  !  " 

"  Fine  ?— Awful !  " 

"You  are  wet.  Stand  hereon  the  hearth 
before  the  fire." 

' '  Not  for  worlds  ! ' ' 

The  stranger  still  stood  in  the  exact  middle 
of  the  cottage,  where  he  had  first  planted 
himself.  His  singularity  impelled  a  closer 
scrutiny.  A  lean,  gloomy  figure.  Hair 
dark  and  lank,  mattedly  streaked  over  his 
brow.  His  sunken  pitfalls  of  e^^es  were 
ringed  by  indigo  halos,  and  played  with  an 
innocuous  sort  of  lightning  ;  the  gleam 
without  the  bolt.  The  whole  man  was 
dripping.  He  stood  in  a  puddle  on  the  bare 
oak  floor ;  his  strange  walking-stick  verti- 
cally resting  at  his  side. 

It  was  a  polished  copper  rod,  four  feet 
long,  lengthwise  attached  to  a  neat  wooden 
staff,  by  insertion  into  two  balls  of  greenish 
glass,  ringed  with  copper  bands.    The  metal 


By  American  Authors.  271 

rod  terminated  at  the  top  tripodwise,  in 
three  keen  tines,  brightly  gilt.  He  held  the 
thing  by  the  wooden  part  alone. 

"Sir,"  said  I,  bowing  politely,  ''have  I 
the  honor  of  a  visit  from  that  illustrious 
god,  Jupiter  Tonans  ?  So  stood  he  in  the 
Greek  statue  of  old,  grasping  the  lightning 
bolt.  If  you  be  he,  or  his  viceroy,  I  have 
to  thank  you  for  this  noble  storm  you  have 
brewed  among  our  mountains.  Listen : 
That  was  a  glorious  peal.  Ah,  to  a  lover  of 
the  majestic,  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have  the 
Thunderer  himself  in  one's  cottage.  The 
thunder  grows  finer  for  that.  But  pray  be 
seated.  This  old  rush-bottomed  arm-chair, 
I  grant,  is  a  poor  substitute  for  your  ever- 
green throne  on  Olympus  ;  but,  condescend 
to  be  seated." 

While  I  thus  pleasantly  spoke,  the 
stranger  eyed  me,  half  in  wonder,  and  half 
in  a  strange  sort  of  horror,  but  did  not  move 
a  foot. 

"  Do,  sir,  be  seated  ;  you  need  to  be  dried 
ere  going  forth  again." 

I  planted  the  chair  invitingly  on  the  broad 
hearth,  where  a  little  fire  had  been  kindled 
that  afternoon  to  dissipate  the  dampness, 
not  the  cold  ;  for  it  was  early  in  the  month 
of  September. 

But  without  heeding  my  solicitations,  and 
still  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
the  stranger  gazed  at  me  portentously  and 
spoke. 


272  Capital  Stories 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  excuse  me  ;  but  instead 
of  my  accepting  your  invitation  to  be  seated 
on  the  hearth  there,  I  solemnly  warn  jj'^z/, 
that  3'ou  had  best  accept  7?ii?ie,  and  stand 
with  me  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Good 
heavens!"  he  cried,  starting — "there  is 
another  of  those  awful  crashes.  I  warn 
3'ou,  sir,  quit  the  hearth." 

"Mr.  Jupiter  Tonans,"  said  I,  quietly- 
rolling  my  body  on  the  stone,  "  I  stand  very 
well  here." 

"  Are  you  so  horridly  ignorant,  then,"  he 
cried,  "  as  not  to  know  that  by  far  the  most 
dangerous  part  of  the  house,  during  such  a 
terrific  tempest  as  this,  is  the  fireplace  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  did  not  know  that,"  involun- 
tarily stepping  upon  the  first  board  next  to 
the  stone. 

The  stranger  now  assumed  such  an  un- 
pleasant air  of  successful  admonition  that — 
quite  involuntarily  again — I  stepped  back 
upon  the  hearth,  and  threw  m^^seif  into  the 
erectest,  proudest  posture  I  could  command. 
But  I  said  nothing. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  he  cried,  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  alarm  and  intimidation — 
"for  Heaven's  sake,  get  oiOT  the  hearth! 
Know  you  not  that  the  heated  air  and  soot 
are  conductors  ; — to  say  nothing  of  those 
immense  iron  fire-dogs  ?  Quit  the  spot — I 
conjure — I  command  you." 

"  Mr.  Jupiter  Tonans,  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  be  commanded  in  mv  own  house." 


By  American  AiUhors.  273 

**  Call  me  not  by  that  pagan  name.  You 
are  profane  in  this  time  of  terror." 

'  *  Sir,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me 
your  business?  If  you  seek  shelter  from 
the  storm,  you  are  welcome,  vSO  long  as  you 
be  civil ;  but  if  you  come  on  business,  open 
it  forthwith.     Who  are  3^ou  ?  ' ' 

"I  am  a  dealer  in  lightning-rods,"  said 
the   stranger,    softening    his    tone;      "my 

special  business  is .   Merciful  heaven! 

what  a  crash  !  — Have  you  ever  been  struck 
— your  premises,  I  mean  ?  No?  It's  best 
to  be  provided  ;  " — significant!}'  rattling  his 
metallic  staff  on  the  floor; — "by  nature, 
there  are  no  castles  in  thunder-storms  ;  yet, 
say  but  the  word,  and  of  this  cottage  I  can 
make  a  Gibraltar  by  a  few  waves  of  this 
wand.  Hark,  what  Himalayas  of  concus- 
sions !  " 

"  You  interrupted  yourself ;  your  special 
business  you  were  about  to  speak  of.  ' ' 

"My  special  business  is  to  travel  the 
country  for  orders  for  lightning-rods.  This 
is  my  specimen-rod;"  tapping  his  staff; 
"  I  have  the  best  of  references  " — fumbling 
in  his  pockets.  "In  Criggan  last  month,  I 
put  up  three-and-twenty  rods  on  only  five 
ijuildings. ' ' 

"  Let  me  see.  Was  it  not  at  Criggan  last 
week,  about  midnight  on  Saturday,  that  the 
steeple,  the  big  elm,  and  the  assembly-room 
cupola  were  struck?  Any  of  your  rods 
there?" 


274  Capital  Stories 

"Not  on  the  tree  and  cupola,  but  the 
steeple." 

' '  Of  what  use  is  your  rod,  then  ?  " 

"Of  life-and-death  use.  But  my  work- 
man was  heedless.  In  fitting  the  rod  at  top 
to  the  steeple,  he  allowed  a  part  of  the 
metal  to  graze  the  tin  sheeting.  Hence  the 
accident.     Not  my  fault,  but  his.     Hark  !  " 

* '  Never  mind.  That  clap  burst  quite  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  without  finger-pointing. 
Did  you  hear  of  the  event  at  Montreal  last 
3'ear  ?  A  ser\'ant  girl  struck  at  her  bed-side 
with  a  rosary  in  her  hand  ;  the  beads  being- 
metal.  Does  yonx  beat  extend  into  the 
Canadas?  " 

"No.  And  I  hear  that  there,  iron  rods 
only  are  in  use.  They  should  have  viiyie^ 
which  are  copper.  Iron  is  easily  fused. 
Then  they  draw  out  the  rod  so  slender,  that 
it  has  not  body  enough  to  conduct  the  full 
electric  current.  The  metal  melts ;  the 
building  is  destroyed.  My  copper  rods  never 
act  so.  Those  Canadians  are  fools.  Some 
of  them  knob  the  rod  at  the  top,  which  risks 
a  deadly  explosion,  instead  of  imperceptibly 
carrying  down  the  current  into  the  earth,  as 
this  sort  of  rod  does.  Mine  is  the  only  true 
rod.     Look  at  it.     Only  one  dollar  a  foot.'* 

"This  abuse  of  your  own  calling  in  an- 
other might  make  one  distrustful  with  re- 
spect to  3'ourself. ' ' 

"  Hark  !  The  thunder  becomes  less  mut- 
tering.    It  is  nearing  us,   and  nearing  the 


By  America7i  Authors.  275 

earth,  too.  Hark  !  One  crammed  crash  ! 
All  the  vibrations  made  one  by  nearness 
Another  flash.     Hold  !  " 

"What  do  you?"  I  said,  seeing  him 
now,  instantaneously  relinquishing  his  staff, 
lean  intently  forward  toward  the  window, 
with  his  right  fore  and  middle  fingers  on  his 
left  wrist. 

But  ere  the  words  had  well  escaped  me, 
another  exclamation  escaped  him. 

'  *  Crash  !  only  three  pulses — less  than  a 
third  of  a  mile  ofi" — yonder,  somewhere  in 
that  wood.  I  passed  three  stricken  oaks 
there,  ripped  out  new  and  glittering.  The 
oak  draws  lightning  more  than  other  tim- 
ber, having  iron  in  solution  in  its  sap.  Your 
floor  here  vSeems  oak." 

"  Heart-of-oak.  From  the  peculiar  time 
of  your  call  upon  me,  I  suppose  you  pur- 
posely select  stormy  weather  for  yoMX  jour- 
neys. When  the  thunder  is  roaring,  you 
deem  it  an  hour  peculiarly  advantageous  for 
producing  impressions  favorable  to  3^our 
trade." 

"  Hark  !— awful !  " 

' '  For  one  who  would  arm  others  with 
fearlessness,  you  seem  unbeseemingly  tim- 
erous  yourself.  Common  men  choose  fair 
weather  for  their  travels  :  you  choose  thun- 
der storms  ;  and  yet " 

"That  I  travel  in  thunder-storms,  I 
grant ;  but  not  without  particular  precau- 
tions, such  as  only  a  lightning-rod  man  may 


276  Capital  Stories 

know.  Hark  I  Quick — look  at  my  speci- 
men rod.     Only  one  dollar  a  foot." 

"A  very  fine  rod,  I  dare  say.  But  what 
are  these  particular  precautions  of  yours? 
Yet  first  let  me  close  yonder  shutters  ;  the 
slanting  rain  is  beating  through  the  sash. 
I  will  bar  up. ' ' 

' '  Are  3'ou  mad  ?  Know  you  not  that  yon 
iron  bar  is  a  swift  conductor  ?     Desist." 

"I  will  simply  close  the  shutters,  then, 
and  call  my  boy  to  bring  me  a  wooden  bar. 
Pray,  touch  the  bell-pull  there." 

' '  Are  you  frantic  ?  That  bell-wire  might 
blast  you.  Never  touch  bell-wire  in  a 
thunder-storm,  nor  ring  a  bell  of  any  sort." 

"Nor  those  in  belfries?  Pray,  will  you 
tell  me  where  and  how  one  may  be  safe  in 
a  time  like  this  ?  Is  there  any  part  of 
my  house  I  mav  touch  with  hopes  of  my 
life?" 

''There  is  ;  but  not  where  3'OU  now  stand. 
Come  away  from  the  wall.  The  current 
will  sometimes  run  down  a  wall,  and — a 
man  being  a  better  conductor  than  a  wall — 
it  would  leave  the  wall  and  run  into  him. 
Swoop  !  That  must  have  fallen  very  nigh. 
That  must  have  been  globular  lightning." 

"  Very  probably.  Tell  me  at  once,  which 
is,  in  your  opinion,  the  safest  part  of  this 
house?" 

* '  This  room,  and  this  one  spot  in  it  where 
I  stand.     Come  hither.  " 

"  The  reasons  first." 


By  American  Authors.  277 

"Hark!— after  the  flash  the  gust— the 
sashes  shiver — the  house,  the  house  ! — Come 
hither  to  me  !  " 

"  The  reasons,  if  you  please." 

"  Come  hither  to  me  !  " 

"  Thank  3'ou  again,  I  think  I  will  tr}^  my 
old  stand — the  hearth.  And  now,  Mr. 
Lightning-rod  man,  in  the  pauses  of  the 
thunder,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  your  rea- 
sons for  esteeming  this  one  room  of  the 
house  the  safest,  and  your  owai  one  stand- 
point there  the  safest  spot  in  it." 

There  was  now  a  little  cessation  of  the 
storm  for  a  while.  The  lightning-rod  man 
seemed  relieved,  and  replied  : 

"Your  house  is  a  one-stor^^  house,  with 
an  attic  and  a  cellar  ;  this  room  is  between. 
Hence  its  comparative  safety.  Because 
lightning  sometimes  passes  from  the  clouds 
to  the  earth,  and  sometimes  from  the  earth 
to  the  clouds.  Do  you  comprehend  ? — and 
I  choose  the  middle  of  the  room,  because, 
if  the  lightning  should  strike  the  house  at 
all,  it  would  come  down  the  chimney  or 
walls  ;  so,  obviously,  the  further  you  are 
from  them,  the  better.  Come  hither  to  me, 
now. ' ' 

"Presently.  Something  you  just  said, 
instead  of  alarming  me,  has  strangely  in- 
spired confidence." 

"What  have  I  said?" 

'  *  You  said  that  sometimes  lightning 
flashes  from  the  earth  to  the  clouds." 


278  Capital  Stories 

"Aye,  the  returiiing-stroke,  as  it  is 
called  ;  when  the  earth,  being  overcharged 
with  the  fluid,  flashes  its  surplus  upward." 

"The  returning- stroke;  that  is,  from 
earth  to  sky.  Better  and  better.  But  come 
here  on  the  hearth  and  dry  j^ourself." 

' '  I  am  better  here,  and  better  wet. ' ' 

'"How?" 

"It  is  the  safest  thing  you  can  do  — 
Hark,  again  !— to  get  3'ourself  thoroughly 
drenched  in  a  thunder-storm.  Wet  clothes 
are  better  conductors  than  the  body  ;  and 
so,  if  the  lightning  strike,  it  might  pass 
down  the  wet  clothes  without  touching  the 
body.  The  storm  deepens  again.  Have 
you  a  rug  in  the  house  ?  Rugs  are  non- 
conductors. Get  one,  that  I  may  stand  on 
it  here,  and  you  too.  The  skies  blacken — it 
is  dusk  at  noon.  Hark  ! — the  rug,  the  rug  !  " 

I  gave  him  one  ;  while  the  hooded  moun- 
tains seemed  closing  and  tumbling  in  the 
cottage. 

' '  And  now,  since  our  being  dumb  will 
not  help  us,"  said  I,  resuming  my  place, 
"let  me  hear  your  precautions  in  traveling 
during  thunder-storms." 

"  Wait  till  this  one  is  passed." 

"  Nay,  proceed  with  the  precautions.  You 
stand  in  the  safest  possible  place  according 
to  your  account.     Go  on." 

"  Briefly,  then.  I  avoid  pine  trees,  high 
houses,  lonely  barns,  upland  pastures,  run- 
ning water,   flocks  of  cattle  and  sheep,  a 


By  American  Authors.  279 

crowd  of  men.  If  I  travel  on  foot — as  to- 
day— I  do  not  walk  fast ;  if  in  my  buggy,  I 
touch  not  its  back  or  sides  ;  if  on  horseback, 
I  dismount  and  lead  the  horse.  But  of  all 
things,  I  avoid  tall  men." 

* '  Do  I  dream  ?  Man  avoid  man  ?  and  in 
danger-time,  too." 

"Tall  men  in  a  thunder-storm  I  avoid. 
Are  you  so  grossly  ignorant  as  not  to  know 
that  the  height  of  a  six-footer  is  sufficient  to 
discharge  an  electric  cloud  upon  him  ?  Are 
not  lonely  Kentuckians,  plowing,  smit  in 
the  unfinished  furrow?  Nay,  if  the  six- 
footer  stand  by  running  water,  the  cloud 
will  sometimes  select  him  as  its  conductor  to 
that  running  water.  Hark !  Sure,  yon 
black  pinnacle  is  split.  Yes,  a  man  is  a 
good  conductor.  The  lightning  goes 
through  and  through  a  man,  but  only  peels 
a  tree.  But  sir,  you  have  kept  me  so  long 
answering  your  questions,  that  I  have  not 
yet  come  to  business.  Will  you  order  one 
of  my  rods  ?  Look  at  this  specimen  one. 
See  :  it  is  of  the  best  of  copper.  Copper's 
the  best  conductor.  Your  house  is  low ; 
but  being  upon  the  mountains,  that  lowness 
does  not  one  whit  depress  it.  You  moun- 
taineers are  most  exposed.  In  mountainous 
countries,  the  lightning-rod  man  should 
have  most  business.  Look  at  the  specimen, 
sir.  One  rod  will  answer  for  a  house  so 
small  as  this.  Look  over  these  recom- 
mendations.    Only  one  rod,  sir  ;  cost,  only 


28o  Capital  Stories 

twent}'  dollars.  Hark  !  There  go  all  the 
granite  Taconics  and  Hoosics  dashed  to- 
gether like  pebbles.  By  the  sound,  that 
must  have  struck  something.  An  elevation 
of  five  feet  above  the  house  will  protect 
twenty  feet  radius  all  about  the  rod.  Only 
twenty  dollars,  sir — a  dollar  a  foot.  Hark  ? 
— Dreadful ! — Will  you  order  ?  Will  you. 
buy  ?  Shall  I  put  down  your  name  ?  Think 
of  being  a  heap  of  charred  ofial,  like  a 
haltered  horse  burnt  in  its  stall;  and  all  in 
one  flash  ! ' ' 

' '  You  pretended  envoy  extraordinary  and 
minister  plenipotentiary  to  and  from  Jupiter 
Tonans,"  laughed  I  ;  "  3'ou  mere  man  who 
come  here  to  put  you  and  your  pipesteni 
between  clay  and  sky,  do  you  think  that 
because  you  can  strike  a  bit  of  green  light 
from  the  Leyden  jar,  that  you  can  thoroughly 
avert  the  supernal  bolt?  Your  rod  rusts, 
or  breaks,  and  where  are  you?  Who  has 
empowered  you,  j^ou  Tetzel,  to  peddle  round 
your  indulgences  from  divine  ordinations  ? 
The  hairs  of  our  heads  are  numbered,  and 
the  days  of  our  lives.  In  thunder  as  in  sun- 
shine, I  stand  at  ease  in  the  hands  of  my 
God.  False  negotiator,  away  !  See,  the 
scroll  of  the  storm  is  rolled  back  ;  the  house 
is  unharmed  ;  and  in  the  blue  heavens  I 
read  in  the  rainbow,  that  the  Deity  will  not^ 
of  purpose,  make  war  on  man's  earth." 

' '  Impious  wretch  I ' '  foamed  the  stranger, 
blackening-    in    the    face    as    the    rainbow 


By  American  Authors.  281 

beamed,  ' '  I  will  publish  your  infidel 
notions." 

The  scowl  grew  blacker  on  his  face  ;  the 
indigo-circles  enlarged  round  his  eyes  as  the 
storm-rings  round  the  midnight  moon.  He 
sprang  upon  me  ;  his  tri-forked  thing  at  my 
heart. 

I  seized  it ;  I  snapped  it ;  I  dashed  it ;  I 
trod  it ;  and  dragging  the  dark  lightning- 
king  out  of  my  door,  flung  his  elbowed^ 
copper  sceptre  after  him. 

But  spite  of  my  treatment,  and  spite  of 
my  dissuasive  talk  of  him  to  my  neighbors, 
the  Lightning-rod  man  still  dwells  in  the 
land  ;  still  travels  in  storm  time,  and  drives 
a  brave  trade  with  the  fears  of  man. 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE. 

BY  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 

Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hud- 
son must  remember  the  Kaatskill  Moun- 
tains. They  are  a  dismembered  branch  of 
the  great  Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen 
away  to  the  west  of  the  river,  swelling  up 
to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  the 
surrounding  country.  Every  change  of 
season,  every  change  of  weather,  indeed, 
every  hour  of  the  day,  produces  some 
change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of 
these  mountains,  and  they  are  regarded  by 


■282  Capital  Stories 

all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near,  as  perfect 
barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and 
settled,  they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple, 
and  print  their  bold  outlines  on  the  clear 
evening  sky  ;  but  sometimes,  when  the  rest 
of  the  landscape  is  cloudless,  they  will 
gather  a  hood  of  gray  vapors  about  their 
summits,  which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  will  glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown 
of  glor3^ 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains  the 
voyager  may  have  descried  the  light  smoke 
curling  up  from  a  village,  whose  shingle 
roofs  gleam  among  the  trees,  just  where  the 
blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt  away  itito  the 
fresh  green  of  the  nearer  landscape.  It  is  a 
little  village  of  great  antiquity,  having  been 
founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colonists  in 
the  early  time  of  the  province,  just  about  the 
beginning  of  the  government  of  the  good 
Peter  Stuyvesant  (ma}^  he  rest  in  peace  !), 
and  there  were  some  of  the  houses  of  the 
original  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years, 
built  of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from 
Holland,  having  latticed  windows  and  gable 
fronts,  surmounted  with  weather-cocks. 

In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these 
very  hoir-es  (which,  to  tell  the  precise  truth, 
was  sadly  time-worn  and  weather-beaten), 
there  lived  many  years  since,  while  the 
country  was  yet  a  province  of  Great  Britain, 
a  simple,  good-natured  fellow,  of  the  name 
•of  Rip  Van  Winkle.     He  was  a  descendant 


By  A77ierica7i  Authors.  283 

of  the  Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gal- 
lantly in  the  chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant,  and  accompanied  him  to  the  siege 
of  Fort  Christina.  He  inherited,  however, 
but  little  of  the  martial  character  of  his  an- 
cestors. I  have  observed  that  he  was  a  sim- 
ple, good-natured  man  ;  he  was,  moreover,, 
a  kind  neighbor,  and  an  obedient  hen- 
pecked husband.  Indeed,  to  the  latter  cir- 
cumstance might  be  owing  that  meekness 
of  spirit  which  gained  him  such  universal 
popularity  ;  for  those  men  are  most  apt  to- 
be  obsequious  and  conciliating  abroad,  who- 
are  under  the  discipline  of  shrews  at  home. 
Their  tempers,  doubtless,  are  rendered 
pliant  and  malleable  in  the  fiery  furnace  of 
domestic  tribulation  ;  and  a  curtain  lecture 
is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for 
teaching  the  virtues  of  patience  and  long- 
suffering.  A  termagant  wife  may,  there- 
fore, in  some  respects,  be  considered  a  tol- 
erable blessing  ;  and  if  so.  Rip  Van  Winkle 
was  thrice  blessed. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite 
among  all  the  good  wives  of  the  village, 
who,  as  usual,  with  the  amiable  sex,  took 
his  part  in  all  family  squabbles ;  and  never 
failed,  whenever  they  talked  those  matters 
over  in  their  evening  gossipings,  to  lay  all 
the  blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The 
children  of  the  village,  too,  would  shout 
with  joy  whenever  he  approached.  He  as- 
sisted at  their  sports,  made  their  playthings. 


284  Capital  Sto?ies 

taught  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  marbles, 
and  told  them  long  stories  of  ghosts, 
^witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went 
dodging  about  the  village,  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  troop  of  them,  hanging  on  his 
skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  playing 
a  thousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity  ; 
and  not  a  dog  would  bark  at  him  through- 
out the  neighborhood. 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was 
.an  insuperable  aversion  to  all  kinds  of  pro- 
fitable labor.  It  could  not  be  from  the  want 
of  assiduity  or  perseverance  ;  for  he  would 
sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as  long  and 
heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all 
■day  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he 
should  not  be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble. 
He  would  carry  a  fowling-piece  on  his 
shoulder  for  hours  together,  trudging 
through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill  and 
down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild 
pigeons.  He  would  never  refuse  to  assist 
a  neighbor,  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and 
was  a  foremost  man  at  all  country  frolics 
for  husking  Indian  corn  or  building  stone 
fences  ;  the  women  of  the  village,  too,  used 
to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands,  and  to 
■do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging 
husbands  would  not  do  for  them.  In  a 
word,  Rip  was  ready  to  attend  to  anybody's 
business  but  his  own  ;  but  as  to  doing 
family  duty,  and  keeping  his  farm  in  order, 
he  found  it  imoossible. 


By  A  mcrica  n  A  u tliors .  285 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to- 
work  on  his  farm  ;  it  was  the  most  pestilent, 
little  piece  of  ground  in  the  whole  countrj-  ; 
ever3'thing  about  it  went  wrong,  and  would 
go  wrong,  in  spite  of  him.  His  fences  were 
continually  falling  to  pieces  ;  his  cow  would 
either  go  astray  or  get  among  the  cabbages  ; 
weeds  were  sure  to  grow  quicker  in  his 
fields  than  anywhere  else  ;  the  rain  always 
made  a  point  of  setting  in  just  as  he  had 
some  out-door  work  to  do  ;  so  that,  though 
his  patrimonial  estate  had  dwindled  awa}^ 
under  his  management,  acre  b}^  acre,  until 
there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch 
of  Indian-corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the 
worst  conditioned  farm  in  the  neighborhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and 
wild  as  if  the}-  belonged  to  nobody.  His. 
son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in  his  own  like- 
ness, promised  to  inherit  the  habits,  with 
the  old  clothes  of  his  father.  He  was  gen- 
erally seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his  mother's 
heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  father's  cast- 
off  galli-gaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to 
hold  up  with  one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does 
her  train  in  bad  weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of 
those  happy  mortals,  of  foolish,  well-oiled 
dispositions,  who  take  the  world  easy,  eat 
white  bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got 
with  least  thought  or  trouble,  and  would 
rather  starve  on  a  penny  than  work  for  a 
pound.     If  left  to  himself,  he  would  have 


286  Capital  Siofies 

whistled  life  away  in  perfect  contentment ; 
but  his  wife  kept  continually  dinning  in  his 
ears  about  his  idleness,  his  carelessness,  and 
the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on  his  family. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night  her  tongue  was 
incessantly  going,  and  everything  he  said 
-or  did  was  sure  to  produce  a  torrent  of 
household  eloquence.  Rip  had  but  one  way 
of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the  kind,  and 
that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a 
habit.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook 
his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing. 
This,  however,  always  provoked  a  fresh 
A^olley  from  his  wife ;  so  that  he  was  fain  to 
draw  off  his  forces,  and  take  to  the  outside 
of  the  house — the  only  side  which,  in  truth, 
belongs  to  a  hen-pecked  husband. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog 
AVolf,  who  was  as  much  hen-pecked  as  his 
master ;  for  Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded 
them  as  companions  in  idleness,  and  even 
looked  upon  Wolf  with  an  evil  eye,  as  the 
cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often  astray. 
True  it  is,  in  all  points  of  spirit  befitting  an 
honorable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  ani- 
mal as  ever  scoured  the  woods — but  what 
courage  can  withstand  the  ever-during  and 
all-besetting  terrors  of  a  woman's  tongue  ? 
The  moment  Wolf  entered  the  house  his 
crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the  ground  or 
curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about 
with  a  gallows  air,  casting  many  a  sidelong 
glance  at  Dame  Van    Winkle,  and  at   the 


By  American  Authors.  287 

least  flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle  lie 
would  fly  to  the  door  with  yelping  precipi- 
tation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip 
Van  Winkle  as  years  of  matrimony  rolled 
on  ;  a  tart  temper  never  mellows  with  age, 
and  a  sharp  tongue  is  the  only  edged  tool 
that  grows  keener  with  constant  use.  For 
a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself, 
when  driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a 
kind  of  perpetual  club  of  the  sages,  philoso- 
phers, and  other  idle  personages  of  the  vil- 
lage ;  which  held  its  sessions  on  a  bench 
before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund 
portrait  of  His  Majesty  George  the  Third. 
Here  they  used  to  sit  in  the  shade  through  a 
long  lazy  summer's  day,  talking  listlessly 
over  village  gossip,  or  telling  endless  sleepy 
stories  about  nothing.  But  it  would  have 
been  worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have 
heard  the  profound  discussions  that  some- 
times took  place,  when  by  chance  an  old 
newspaper  fell  into  their  hands  from  some 
passing  traveler.  How  solemnly  they  would 
listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawled  out  by 
Derrick  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  a 
dapper  learned  little  man,  who  was  not  to 
be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic  word  in  the 
dictionary  ;  and  how  sagely  they  would  de- 
liberate upon  public  events  some  months 
after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely 
controlled  by  Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch 


288  Capital  Stories 

of  the  village,  and  landlord  of  the  inn,  at  the 
door  of  which  he  took  his  seat  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  just  moving  sufficiently  to 
avoid  the  sun  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a 
large  tree  ;  so  that  the  neighbors  could  tell 
the  hour  by  his  movements  as  accurately  as 
"by  a  sun-dial.  It  is  true  he  was  rarely  heard 
to  speak,  but  smoked  his  pipe  incessantl3^ 
His  adherents,  however  (for  every  great 
man  has  his  adherents),  perfectly  under- 
stood him,  and  knew  how  to  gather  his 
opinions.  From  even  this  stronghold  the 
unlucky  Rip  was  at  length  routed  by  his 
i?7ife,  w^ho  would  suddenly  break  in  upon 
the  tranquillity  of  the  assemblage  and  call 
the  members  all  to  naught  ;  nor  was  that 
august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder  himself, 
sacred  from  the  daring  tongue  of  this  terri- 
"ble  virago,  w^ho  charged  him  outright  with 
encouraging  her  husband  in  habits  of  idle- 
ness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to 
despair  ;  and  his  only  alternative,  to  escape 
from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and  clamor  of  his 
wife,  was  to  take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll 
away  into  the  woods.  Here  he  would  some- 
times seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and 
share  the  contents  of  his  wallet  with  Wolf, 
with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  persecution.  "  Poor  Wolf, '' he 
would  say,  "  thy  mistress  leads  thee  a  dog's 
life  of  it  ;  but  never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst  I 
live  thou  shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand 


By  American  Authors.  289 

b}^  thee  !  "  Wolf  would  wag  his  tail,  look 
wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  and  if  dogs 
can  feel  pity  I  verily  believe  he  reciprocated 
the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine 
autumnal  day,  Rip  had  unconsciously 
scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest  parts  of  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains.  He  was  after  his 
favorite  sport  of  squirrel  shooting,  and  the 
still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed 
with  the  reports  of  his  gun.  Panting  and 
fatigued,  he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  after- 
noon, on  a  green  knoll,  covered  with  moun- 
tain herbage,  that  crowned  the  brow  of  a 
precipice.  From  an  opening  between  the 
trees  he  could  overlook  all  the  lower  country 
for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland.  He  saw 
at  a  distance  the  lordly  Hudson,  far,  far 
below  him,  moving  on  its  silent  but  majestic 
course,  with  the  reflection  of  a  purple  cloud, 
or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there 
sleeping  on  its  glassy  bosom,  and  at  last 
losing  itself  in  the  blue  highlands. 

On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a 
deep  mountain  glen,  wild,  lonely,  and 
shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with  fragments 
from  the  impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely 
lighted  by  the  reflected  rays  of  the  setting 
sun .  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this 
scene  ;  evening  was  gradually  advancing  ; 
the  mountains  began  to  throw  their  long 
blue  shadows  over  the  valleys  ;  he  saw  that 
it  would  be  dark  long  before  he  could  reach 


290  Capital  Stories 

the  village,  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh 
when  he  thought  of  encountering  the  terrors 
of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a 
voice  from  a  distance,  hallooing,  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "  He  looked 
round,  but  could  see  nothing  but  a  crow 
winging  its  solitary  flight  across  the  moun- 
tain. He  thought  his  fancy  must  have  de- 
ceived him,  and  turned  again  to  descend, 
when  he  heard  the  same  cry  ring  through 
the  still  evening  air  :  '  *  Rip  Van  Winkle  ! 
Rip  Van  Winkle  ! ' ' — at  the  same  time  Wolf 
bristled  up  his  back,  and  giving  a  low 
growl,  skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking 
fearfully  down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt 
a  vague  apprehension  stealing  over  him  ;  he 
looked  anxiously  in  the  same  direction,  and 
perceived  a  strange  figure  slowly  toiling  up 
the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the  weight  of 
something  he  carried  on  his  back.  He  was 
surprised  to  see  any  human  being  in  this 
lonely  and  unfrequented  place ;  but  sup- 
posing it  to  be  some  one  of  the  neighbor- 
hood in  need  of  his  assistance,  he  hastened 
down  to  34eld  it. 

On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  sur- 
prised at  the  singularity  of  the  stranger's 
apperance.  He  was  a  short,  square-built 
old  fellow,  with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a 
grizzled  beard.  His  dress  was  of  the  an- 
tique Dutch  fashion — a  cloth  jerkin  strapped 
round  the  waist — several  pair  of  breeches, 


By  Aviericaii  Authors.  291 

the  outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated 
^vith  rows  of  buttons  down  the  sides,  and 
bunches  at  the  knees.  He  bore  on  his 
shoulder  a  stout  keg,  and  made  signs  for 
Rip  to  approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load. 
Though  rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this 
new  acquaintance,  Rip  complied  with  his 
usual  alacrity  ;  and  mutually  relieving  one 
another,  they  clambered  up  a  narrow  gully, 
apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  tor- 
rent. As  they  ascended,  Rip  every  now  and 
then  heard  long  rolling  peals  like  distant 
thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep 
ravine,  or  rather  cleft,  between  lofty  rocks, 
toward  which  their  rugged  path  conducted. 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  but  supposing  it 
to  be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those  transient 
thunder- showers  which  often  take  place  in 
mountain  heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing 
through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow, 
like  a  small  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by 
perpendicular  precipices,  over  the  brinks  of 
which  impending  trees  shot  their  branches, 
so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the 
azure  sky  and  the  bright  evening  cloud. 
During  the  whole  time  Rip  and  his  com- 
panion had  labored  on  in  silence ;  for 
though  the  former  marveled  greatly  what 
could  be  the  object  of  carrying  such  a 
burden  up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there 
was  something  strange  and  incomprehensi- 
"ble  about  the  unknown,  that  inspired  awe 
and  checked  familiarity. 


292  Capital  Stories 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  ob- 
jects of  wonder  presented  themselves.  On 
a  level  spot  in  the  centre  was  a  company  of 
odd-looking  personages  playing  at  nine- 
pins. The}'  were  dressed  in  a  quaint  out- 
landish fashion  ;  some  wore  short  doublets, 
others  jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their 
belts,  and  most  of  them  had  enormous 
breeches  of  similar  st^de  with  that  of  th2 
guide's.  Their  visages,  too,  were  peculiar ; 
one  had  a  large  beard,  broad  face,  and  small 
piggish  ej-es  ;  the  face  of  another  seemed  to 
consist  entirely  of  nose,  and  was  surmounted 
by  a  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a 
little  red  cock's  tail.  The}^  all  had  beards, 
of  various  shapes  and  colors.  There  was 
one  who  seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He 
was  a  stout  old  gentleman,  with  a  weather- 
beaten  countenance  ;  he  wore  a  laced  doub- 
let, broad  belt  and  hanger,  high  crowned 
hat  and  feather,  red  stockings,  and  high- 
heeled  shoes,  with  roses  in  them.  The 
whole  group  reminded  Rip  of  the  figures  in 
an  old  Flemish  painting  in  the  parlor  of 
Dominie  Van  Shaick,  the  village  parson, 
which  had  been  brought  over  from  Holland 
at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip  was, 
that  though  these  folks  were  evidently 
amusing  themselves,  3'et  they  maintained 
the  gravest  faces,  the  most  mysterious 
silence,  and  were,  withal,  the  most  mel- 
ancholy   party   of    pleasure    he  had    ever 


By  Ame7'icaii  Authors.  293 

•witnessed.  Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness 
of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls, 
which,  whenever  they  were  rolled,  echoed 
along  the  mountains  like  rumbling  peals  of 
thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached 
them,  they  suddenl}^  desisted  from  their 
play,  and  stared  at  him  with  such  fixed, 
statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth, 
lack-lustre  countenances,  that  his  heart 
turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  to- 
gether. At  length  his  senses  were  over- 
powered, his  eyes  swam  in  his  head,  his 
head  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep. 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green 
linoll  whence  he  had  first  seen  the  old  man 
of  the  glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes — it  was  a 
bright,  sunny  morning.  The  birds  were 
hopping  and  twittering  among  the  bushes, 
and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  aloft,  and 
breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze. 
"Surely,"  thought  Rip,  '*I  have  not  slept 
here  all  night."  He  recalled  the  occur- 
rences before  he  fell  asleep.  The  strange 
man  with  the  keg — the  mountain  ravine — 
the  wild  retreat  among  the  rocks— the  woe- 
begone party  at  nine-pins — the  flagon — 
''Oh  !  that  flagon  !  that  wicked  flagon  !  " 
thought  Rip — "what  excuse  shall  I  make 
to  Dame  Van  Winkle  ?  ' ' 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place 
of  the   clean,    well-oiled   fowling-piece,    be 


294  Capital  Stories 

found  an  old  firelock  lyin^  by  him,  the  bar- 
rel incrusted  with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off, 
and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He  now  sus- 
pected that  the  grave  roisterers  of  the  moun- 
tain had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and,  having 
dosed  him,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun. 
Wolf,  too,  had  disappeared,  but  he  might 
have  stra\^ed  away  after  a  squirrel  or  part- 
ridge. He  whistled  after  him,  and  shouted 
his  name,  but  all  in  vain ;  the  echoes  re- 
peated his  whistle  and  shout,  but  no  dog 
was  to  be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the 
la.st  evening's  gambol,  and  if  he  met  with 
any  of  the  party,  to  demand  his  dog  and 
gun.  As  he  rose  to  w^alk,  he  found  himself 
stiff  in  the  joints,  and  w^anting  in  his  usual 
activity.  "These  mountain  beds  do  not 
agree  with  me,"  thought  Rip,  "and  if  this 
frolic  should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the  rheu- 
matism, I  shall  have  a  blessed  time  with 
Dame  Van  Winkle."  With  some  difficulty 
he  got  down  into  the  glen  ;  he  found  the 
gully  up  which  he  and  his  companion  had 
ascended  the  preceding  evening  ;  but  to  his 
astonishment  a  mountain  stream  was  now 
foaming  down  it,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  filling  the  glen  with  babbling  murmurs. 
He,  however,  made  shift  to  scramble  up  its 
sides,  working  his  toilsome  way  through 
thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and  witch-hazel, 
and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  entangled  by 
the  wild  grape- vines  that  twisted  their  coils 


By  American  Atithors.  295 

or  tendrils  from  tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a 
kind  of  net- work  in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine 
had  opened  through  the  cliffs  to  the  amphi- 
theatre :  but  no  traces  of  such  opening  re- 
mained. The  rocks  presented  a  high,  im- 
penetrable wall,  over  which  the  torrent  came 
tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam,  and 
fell  into  a  broad,  deep  basin,  black  from  the 
shadows  of  the  surrounding  forests.  Here, 
then,  poor  Rip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He 
again  called  and  whistled  after  his  dog  ;  he 
was  only  answered  by  the  cawing  of  a  flock 
of  idle  crows,  sporting  high  in  air  about  a 
dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  precipice, 
and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed 
to  look  down  and  scoff  at  the  poor  man's 
perplexities.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  The 
morning  was  passing  away,  and  Rip  felt 
famished  for  want  of  his  breakfast.  He 
grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and  gun  ;  he 
dreaded  to  meet  his  wife  ;  but  it  would  not 
do  to  starve  among  the  mountains.  He 
shook  his  head,  shouldered  the  rusty  fire- 
lock, and,  with  a  heart  full  of  trouble  and 
anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village  he  met  a 
number  of  people,  but  none  whom  he  knew, 
which  somewhat  surprised  him,  for  he  had 
thought  himself  acquainted  with  every  one 
in  the  country  round.  Their  dress,  too, 
was  of  a  different  fashion  from  that  to  which 
he  was  accustomed.    They  all  stared  at  him 


296  Capital  Stories 

with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever 
they  cast  their  eyes  upon  him,  invariably 
stroked  their  chins.  The  constant  recur- 
rence of  this  gesture  induced  Rip,  involun- 
tarily, to  do  the  same,  when,  to  his  aston- 
ishment, he  found  his  beard  had  grown  a 
foot  long  ! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the 
village.  A  troop  of  strange  children  ran  at 
his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and  pointing  at 
his  gray  beard.  The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of 
which  he  recognized  for  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The  ver^^ 
village  w^as  altered  ;  it  w^as  larger  and  more 
populous.  There  were  rows  of  houses 
which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  those 
which  had  been  his  familiar  haunts  had  dis- 
appeared. Strange  names  were  over  the 
doors — strange  faces  at  the  windows — ever^-- 
thing  was  strange.  His  mind  now  misgave 
him  ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he 
and  the  world  around  him  were  not  be- 
witched. Surely  this  was  his  native  village, 
which  he  had  left  but  the  day  before.  There 
stood  the  Kaatskill  Mountains — there  ran 
the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance — there  w^as 
every  hill  and  dale  preciseh^  as  it  had  always 
been.  Rip  was  sorely  perplexed.  "The 
revel  last  night,"  thought  he,  "  has  addled 
my  poor  head  sadly  !  " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found 
the  way  to  his  own  house,  which  he  ap- 
proached  w^ith  silent  awe,  expecting  every 


By  American  Authors,  297 

moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice  of  Dame 
Van  Winkle.  He  found  the  house  gone  to 
decay — the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows  shat- 
tered, and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.  A  half- 
starved  dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was 
skulking  about  it.  Rip  called  him  by 
name,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed  his  teeth 
and  passed  on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut 
indeed.  ' '  My  very  dog, ' '  sighed  poor  Rip, 
' '  has  forgotten  me  !  ' ' 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the 
truth,  Dame  Van  Winkle  had  always  kept 
in  neat  order.  It  w^as  empty,  forlorn,  and 
apparently  abandoned.  This  desolateness 
overcame  all  his  connubial  fears — he  called 
loudl}^  for  his  wife  and  children — the  lonely 
chambers  rang  for  a  moment  with  his  voice, 
and  then  again  all  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to 
his  old  resort,  the  village  inn — but  it,  too 
was  gone.  A  large,  rickety,  wooden  build- 
ing stood  in  its  place,  with  great  gaping 
windows,  some  of  them  broken  and  mended 
with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the 
door  was  painted,  "The  Union  Hotel,  by 
Jonathan  Doolittle. "  Instead  of  the  great 
tree  that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little 
Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  was  reared  a 
tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top 
that  looked  like  a  red  nightcap,  and  from  it 
was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was  a  sin- 
gular assemblage  of  stars  and  stripes — all 
this  was  strange  and  incomprehensible.    He 


:2gS  Capital  Stories 

recognized  on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby- 
face  of  King  George,  but  even  this  was  sin- 
gularly metamorphosed.  The  red  coat  was 
changed  for  one  of  blue  and  buff,  a  sword 
was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre, 
the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat, 
and  underneath  was  painted  in  large  charac- 
ters, Generai^  Washington. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk 
about  the  door,  but  none  that  Rip  recol- 
lected. The  very  character  of  the  people 
seemed  changed.  There  was  a  busy,  bust- 
ling, disputatious  tone  about  it,  instead  of 
the  accustomed  phlegm  and  drowsy  tran- 
quillity. He  looked  in  vain  for  the  sage 
Nicholas  Vedder,  with  his  broad  face, 
double  chin,  and  fair  long  pipe,  uttering 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  instead  of  idle 
speeches  ;  or  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmas- 
ter, doling  forth  the  contents  of  an  ancient 
newspaper.  In  place  of  these,  a  lean,  bil- 
ious fellow,  with  his  pockets  full  of  hand- 
bills, was  haranguing  vehemently  about 
rights  of  citizens — elections — members  of 
Congress — liberty — Bunker's  Hill — heroes 
of  seventy-six — and  other  words,  which 
were  a  perfect  Babylonish  j  argon  to  the  be- 
wildered Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long 
grizzled  beard,  his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his 
uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of  women  and 
children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the 
attention  of  the   tavern   politicians.     They 


By  American  Authors.  299 

crowded  round  him,  eyeing  him  from  head 
to  foot  with  great  curiosity.  The  orator 
bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly 
aside,  inquired  "  on  which  side  he  voted  ?  '^ 
Rip  stared  in  vacant  stupidity.  Another 
short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled  him  by 
the  arm,  and,  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in. 
his  ear,  ' '  Whether  he  was  Federal  or  Dem- 
ocrat ? ' '  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  com- 
prehend the  question  ;  when  a  knowing, 
self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp 
cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  putting  them  to  the  right  and  left 
with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and  planting- 
himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm 
akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his 
keen  eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating  as  it 
were,  into  his  very  soul,  demanded  in  an 
austere  tone,  ''what  brought  him  to  the 
election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder  and  a 
mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to- 
breed  a  riot  in  the  village  ? — "Alas  !  gentle- 
men," cried  Rip,  somewhat  disma^^ed,  "  I 
am  a  poor  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place 
and  a  loyal  subject  of  the  King,  God  bless 
him!" 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  by- 
standers— "  A  tory  !  a  tory  !  a  spy  !  a  refu- 
gee !  hustle  him  !  away  with  him  !  "  It 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self- 
important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored 
order ;  and,  having  assumed  a  tenfold  aus- 
terity   of    brow,    demanded    again   of  the 


300  Capital  Stories 

unknown  culprit,  what  be  came  there  for, 
and  whom  he  was  seeking  ?  The  poor  man 
humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  harm, 
but  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of 
his  neighbors,  who  used  to  keep  about  the 
tavern. 

"  Well — who  are  the}-? — name  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  in- 
quired, "Where's  Nicholas  Vedder?" 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  w^hen 
an  old  man  replied,  in  a  thin,  piping  voice, 
*' Nicholas  Vedder!  why,  he  is  dead  and 
gone  these  eighteen  years  !  There  was  a 
wooden  tombstone  in  the  church-yard  that 
used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten 
and  gone  too." 

"  Where's  Brom  Butcher?" 

"Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the 
beginning  of  the  w^ar ;  some  say  he  w^as 
tilled  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point — 
others  say  he  was  drowned  in  a  squall  at  the 
foot  of  Antony's  Nose.  I  don't  know — he 
never  came  back  again. ' ' 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  school- 
master?" 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great 
militia  general,  and  is  now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these 
sad  changes  in  his  home  and  friends,  and 
finding  himself  thus  alone  in  the  world. 
Every  answer  puzzled  him,  too,  by  treating 
of  such  enormous  lapses  of  time,  and  of 
matters  which   he  could  not  understand  : 


By  American  Authors.  301 

war — Congress — Stony  Point  ; — he  had  no 
courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  ' '  Does  nobody  here 
know  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?" 

"  Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle?"  exclaimed  two> 
or  three.  "  Oh,  to  be  sure  !  that's  Rip  Van 
Winkle  yonder,   leaning  against  the  tree."* 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counter- 
part of  himself  as  he  went  up  the  mountain  r 
apparently  as  lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged. 
The  poor  fellow  was  now  completely  con- 
founded. He  doubted  his  own  identity, 
and  whether  he  was  himself  or  another 
man.  In  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment, 
the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who 
he  was,  and  what  was  his  name? 

"  I'm  not  myself !"  he  exclaimed.  **  I'm 
somebody  else — that's  me  yonder— no — 
that's  somebody  else  got  into  my  shoes — I 
was  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  om 
the  mountain,  and  they've  changed  my 
gun,  and  everything's  changed,  and  I'm 
changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what's  my  name^ 
or  who  I  am  !  ' ' 

The  bystanders  began  now  to  look  at 
each  other,  nod,  wink  significantly,  and  tap 
their  fingers  against  their  foreheads.  There 
was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun, 
and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from  doing  mis- 
chief, at  the  very  suggestion  of  which  the 
self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  retired 
with  some  precipitation.  At  this  critical 
moment   a   fresh,    comely   woman  pressed 


302  Capital  Stories 

through  the  throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray- 
bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby  child  in 
her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his  looks, 
began  to  cry.  "  Hush,  Rip,"  she  cried, 
"  hush,  you  little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't 
hurt  you."  The  name  of  the  child,  the  air 
of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  all 
awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his 
mind.  ' '  What  is  your  name,  my  good 
woman?"  asked  he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"  And  your  father's  name  ?" 

"Ah,  poor  man.  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his 
name,  but  it's  twenty  j-ears  since  he  went 
away  from  home  with  his  gun,  and  never 
has  been  heard  of  since, — his  dog  came 
home  without  him  ;  but  whether  he  shot 
himself,  or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians, 
nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then  but  a  little 
girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask  ; 
and  he  put  it  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Where's  3'our  mother?" 

"  Oh,  she  too  has  died  but  a  short  time 
since  ;  she  broke  a  blood-vessel  in  a  fit  of 
passion  at  a  New  England  peddler." 

The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no 
longer.  He  caught  his  daughter  and  her 
child  in  his  arms.  "I  am  your  father!" 
cried  he — "  Young  Rip  Van  Winkle  once — 
old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now  !  Does  nobody 
know  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?" 

All  stood  amazed,   until  an  old  woman 


By  American  Authors.  305 

tottering  out  from  among  the  crowd,  put 
her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  peering  under  it 
in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed,  "Sure 
enough  !  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — it  is  him- 
self !  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor — 
Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty^ 
long  years?" 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole 
twenty  years  had  been  to  him  but  as  one 
night.  The  neighbors  stared  when  they 
heard  it ;  some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each 
other,  and  put  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks  ; 
and  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked 
hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was  over,  had 
returned  to  the  field,  screwed  down  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  and  shook  his  head — 
upon  which  there  was  a  general  shaking  of 
the  head  throughout  the  assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the 
opinion  of  old  Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was- 
seen  slowly  advancing  up  the  road.  He 
was  a  descendant  of  the  historian  of  that 
name,  who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest  accounts- 
of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most  ancient 
inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well  versed 
in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions 
of  the  neighborhood.  He  recollected  Rip 
at  once,  and  corroborated  his  story  in 
the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He  assured 
the  company  that  it  was  a  fact,  handed 
down  from  his  ancestor  the  historian, 
that  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  had  always 
been   haunted   by    strange    beings.     That 


304  Capital  Stories 

ii  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hen- 
drick  Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the 
river  and  countrj^  kept  a  kind  of  vigil 
there  every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of 
the  Half- Moon ;  being  permitted  in  this 
way  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise, 
and  keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the  river, 
and  the  great  city  called  by  his  name.  That 
his  father  had  once  seen  them  in  their  old 
Dutch  dresses  playing  at  nine-pins  in  a 
hollow  of  the  mountain  ;  and  that  he  him- 
self had  heard,  one  summer  afternoon,  the 
sound  of  their  balls,  hke  distant  peals  of 
thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company 
broke  up,  and  returned  to  the  more  impor- 
tant concerns  of  the  election.  Rip's  daugh- 
ter took  him  home  to  live  with  her  ;  she 
had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and  a 
stout,  cheery  farmer  for  a  husband  whom 
Rip  recollected  for  one  of  the  urchins  that 
used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's 
son  and  heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of  himself, 
seen  leaning  against  a  tree,  he  was  em- 
ployed to  work  on  the  farm  ;  but  evinced 
a  hereditary  disposition  to  attend  to  any- 
thing else  but  his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and 
habits ;  he  soon  found  many  of  his  former 
cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse  for  the 
wear  and  tear  of  time  ;  and  preferred  mak- 
ing friends  among  the  rising  generation, 
with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favor. 


By  American  Authors.  305 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being 
arrived  at  that  happy  age  when  a  man  can 
be  idle  with  impunity,  he  took  his  place  once 
more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn  door,  and  was 
reverenced  as  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the 
village,  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old  times 
' '  before  the  war. ' '  It  was  some  time  before 
he  could  get  into  the  regular  track  of  gossip, 
or  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the  strange 
events  that  had  taken  place  during  his  tor- 
por. How  that  there  had  been  a  revolu- 
tionary war — that  the  country  had  thrown 
off  the  yoke  of  old  England — and  that,  in- 
stead of  being  a  subject  of  his  Majesty 
George  the  Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen 
of  the  United  States.  Rip,  in  fact,  was  no 
politician  ;  the  changes  of  states  and  em- 
pires made  but  little  impression  on  him  ; 
but  there  was  one  species  of  despotism  under 
which  he  had  long  groaned,  and  that  was — 
petticoat  government.  Happily  that  was 
at  an  end ;  he  had  got  his  neck  out  of  the 
yoke  of  matrimony,  and  he  could  go  in  and 
out  whenever  he  pleased,  without  dreading 
the  tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  When- 
ever her  name  was  mentioned,  however,  he 
shook  his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
cast  up  his  eyes  ;  which  might  pass  either 
for  an  expression  of  resignation  to  his  fate, 
or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger 
that  arrived  at  Mr.  Doolittle's  notel.  He 
was  observed  at  first  to  vary  on  some  points 


3o6  Capital  Stories 

every  time  he  told  it,  which  was,  doubtless, 
owing  to  his  having  so  recently  awakened. 
It  at  last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale 
I  have  related,  and  not  a  man,  woman  or 
child  in  the  neighborhood  but  knew  it  by 
heart.  Some  always  pretended  to  doubt 
the  reality  of  it,  and  insisted  that  Rip  had 
been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was 
one  point  on  which  he  alwavs  remained 
flighty. 

The  old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however,  al- 
most universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even  to 
this  day  thc}^  never  hear  a  thunderstorm  of 
a  summer  afternoon  about  the  Kaatskill, 
but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew 
are  at  their  game  of  nine-pins  ;  and  it  is  a 
common  wish  of  all  henpecked  husbands  in 
the  neighborhood,  when  life  hangs  heavy 
on  their  hands  that  they  might  have  a 
quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van  Winkle's 
flagon. 


THE   EAZY   CROW. 

BY   GILMORK  SIMMS. 

We  were  on  the  Savannah  river  when  the 
corn  was  coming  up  ;  at  the  residence  of 
one  of  those  planters  of  the  middle  country, 
the  staid,  sterling,  old  time  gentlemen  of 
the  last  century,  the  stock  of  which  is  so 
rapidly  diminishing.  The  season  was  ad- 
vanced and  beautiful  ;  the  flowers  every 
where  in  odor,  and  all  things  promised  well 


By  American  Authors.  307 

for  the  crops  of  the  planter.  Hopes  and 
seed,  however,  set  out  in  March  and  April, 
have  a  long  time  to  go  before  ripening,  and 
when  I  congratulated  Mr.  Carrington  on 
the  prospect  before  him,  he  would  shake 
his  head,  and  smile  and  say,  in  a  quizzical 
inquiring  humor,  ' ' '  wet  or  dry,  cold  or 
warm,  which  shall  it  be  ?  what  season  shall 
we  have  ?  Tell  me  that,  and  I  will  hearken 
with  more  confidence  to  your  congratula- 
tions. We  can  do  more  than  plant  the  seed, 
scuffle  with  the  grass,  say  our  prayers,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  Him  without  whose  blessing 
no  labor  can  avail." 

' '  There  is  something  more  to  be  done, 
and  of  scarcely  less  importance  it  would 
seem,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  movements 
of  Scipio — kill  or  keep  off  the  crows." 

Mr.  Carrington  turned  as  I  spoke  these 
words  ;  we  had  just  left  the  breakfast  table, 
where  we  had  enjoyed  all  the  warm  comforts 
of  hot  rice-waffles,  journey-cake,  and  glow- 
ing biscuit,  not  to  speak  of  hominy  and  hoe- 
cake,  without  paying  that  passing  acknowl- 
edgment to  dyspeptic  dangers  upon  which 
modern  physicians  so  earnestly  insist. 
Scipio,  a  sleek,  well  fed  negro,  with  around, 
good-humored  face,  was  busy  in  the  corner 
of  the  apartment ;  one  hand  employed  in 
grasping  a  goodly  fragment  of  bread,  half- 
concealed  in  a  similar  slice  of  bacon,  which 
he  had  just  received  from  his  young  mis- 
tress ; —  while  the  other  carefully  selected 


3o8  Capital  Stories 

from  the  corner,  one  of  half  a- dozen  double- 
barrelled  guns,  which  he  was  about  to  raise 
to  his  shoulder,  when  vc^y  remark  turned 
the  eye  of  his  master  upon  him. 

"How  now,  Scipio,  what  are  j'ou  going 
to  shoot  ?  ' '  was  the  inquir>^  of  Mr.  Car- 
rin^ton. 

"  Crow,  sah  ;  dere's  a  ugly  crow  dat's  a- 
troubling  me,  and  my  heart's  set  for  kill 
um." 

"One  only?  why  Scip,  you're  well  off  if 
you  hav'n't  a  hundred.  Do  they  trouble 
you  very  much  in  the  pine  land  field  ?  ' ' 

"Dare's  a  plenty-,  sah;  but  dis  one  I 
guine  kill,  sah,  he's  wuss  more  nor  all 
de  rest.  You  hab  good  load  in  bot'  barrel, 
massa  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  but  small  shot  only.  Draw  the 
load,  Scip,  and  put  in  some  of  the  high 
duck  ;  you'll  find  the  bag  in  the  closet. 
These  crows  wnll  hardly  let  you  get  nigh 
enough,  Scipio,  to  do  them  any  mischief 
with  small  shot." 

"  Ha  !  but  I  will  trouble  dis  black  rascal, 
you  see,  once  I  set  eye  'pon  um.  He's  a 
ugly  nigger,  and  he  a' n't  feared.  I  can  git 
close  'nough.  massa." 

The  expression  of  Scipio' s  face,  while 
uttering  the  brief  declaration  of  war  against 
the  innumerable  and  almost  licensed  pirates 
of  the  cornfield,  or  rather  against  one  in 
particular,  was  full  of  the  direst  hostil- 
ity.    His  accents  were  not  less  marked  by 


By  American  Authors.  309 

malignity,  and  could  not   fail  to  c  ommand 
our  attention. 

''  Why,  you  seem  angry  about  it,  Scipio  ; 
this  crow  must  be  one  of  the  most  impu- 
dent of  his  tribe,  and  a  distinguished  char- 
acter." 

"I'll  'stinguish  um,  massa — you'll  see. 
Jist  as  you  say,  he's  a  mos'  impudent  nig- 
ger. He  no  feared  of  me  't  all.  When  I 
Stan'  and  look  'pon  him,  he  stan'  and  look 
'pon  me.  I  tak'  up  dirt  and  stick,  and  trow 
at  um,  but  he  no  scare.  When  I  chase  um, 
he  fly  dis  way,  he  fly  dat,  but  he  nebber 
gone  so  far,  but  he  can  turn  round  and  cock 
he  tail  at  me,  jist  when  he  see  me  stop. 
He's  a  mos'  d — n  sassy  crow,  as  ebber  walk 
in  a  cornfield." 

"But,  Scipio,  you  surprise  me.  You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  it  is  one  crow  in 
particular  that  annoys  3^ou  in  this  manner." 

"  De  same  one,  ebbery  day,  massa;  de 
same  one,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  ?  " 

"  Mos'  a  week  now,  massa  ;  ebber  since 
las'  Friday." 

'  *  Indeed  !  but  what  makes  you  think  this 
troublesome  crow  always  the  same  one, 
Scipio  ?  Do  you  think  the  crows  never 
change  their  spies  ?  " 

"Golly,  I  know  um,  massa  ;  dis  da  same 
crow  been  trouble  me  ebber  since  las'  Fri- 
day. He's  a  crow  by  hese'f,  massa.  I 
nebber  see  him  wid  t'oder  crows  ;  he  no  hab 


3 1  o  Capital  Stories 

complexion  of  t'oder  crow,  3'et  he's  crow^ 
all  de  same." 

'*  Is  he  not  black,  like  all  his  tribe?" 

"  Yes,  he  black,  but  he  ain't  black  likede 
oder  ones.  Dere's  something  like  a  gray 
dirt  'pon  he  wing.  He's  black,  but  he  no 
gloss  black — no  jet  ;  he  hab  dirt,  I  tell  you, 
massa,  on  he  wing,  jis'  by  de  skirt  ob  de 
jacket — jis'  here  ;  "  and  he  lifted  the  lapel 
of  his  master's  coat,  as  he  concluded  his 
description  of  the  bird  that  troubled  him. 

"  A  strange  sort  of  crow  indeed,  Scipio, 
if  he  answers  your  description.  Should 
you  kill  him,  be  sure  and  bring  him  to  me. 
I  can  scarcely  think  him  a  crow\" 

"  How  no  crow,  massa  ?  Golly,  I  know 
crow  good  as  anybod3^  He's  a  crow, 
massa— a  dirty,  black  nigger  of  a  crow,  and 
I'll  shoot  um  through  he  head,  sure  as  a 
gun.  He  trouble  me  too  much  ;  look  hard 
'pon  me  as  if  you  hab  bin  gib  um  wages 
for  obersee.  Nobody  ax  um  for  watch 
me,  see  wha'  I  do  !  Who  mak'  him  ober- 
seer  ?  ' ' 

"  A  useful  crow,  Scipio  ;  and  now  I  think 
of  it,  it  might  be  just  as  well  that  you 
shouldn't  shoot  him.  If  he  does  such  good 
service  in  the  cornfield  as  to  see  that  you  all 
do  your  work,  I'll  make  him  my  overseer 
in  my  absence  !  ' ' 

This  speech  almost  astounded  the  negro. 
He  dropped  the  butt  of  the  gun  upon  the 
floor,   suffered   the   muzzle   to   rest   in  the 


By  American  Authors.  311 

hollow  of  his  arm,  and  thus  boldly  expos- 
tulated with  his  master  against  so  strange  a 
decision. 

* '  No  shoot  um,  massa  ;  no  shoot  crow 
dat's  a-troubling  you  ?  Dickens,  massa,  but 
dat's  too  foolish  now,  I  mus'  tell  you  ;  and 
to  tell  you  de  blessed  trut',  if  you  don't 
shoot  dis  lazy  crow  I  tell  you  ob,  or  le'  me 
shoot  um,  one  or  t'oder,  den  you  mus'  take 
Scip  out  of  de  cornfiel',  and  put  'n  oder 
nigger  in  he  place.  I  can't  work  wid  dat 
ugly  ting  looking  at  me  so  sassy.  When  I 
turn,  he  turn  ;  if  I  go  to  dis  hand,  why, 
he's  dere  ;  if  I  change  'bout,  and  go  t'oder 
hand,  dere's  de  critter,  jis'  de  same.  He 
nebber  git  out  of  de  way  till  I  run  at  um 
wid  a  stick." 

''Well,  well,  Scipio,  kill  your  crow,  but 
be  sure  and  bring  him  in  when  you  do  so. 
You  may  go  now." 

**I  hab  um  to-night  for  you,  massa,  ef 
God  spare  me.  Look  'a,  young  missus, 
you  hab  any  coffee  lef '  in  de  pot ;  I  tanks 
you." 

Jane  Carrington — a  gentle  and  lovely  girl 
of  seventeen — who  did  the  honors  of  the 
table,  supplied  Scipio' s  wants,  and  leaving 
him  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  mug  of  coffee, 
Mr.  C.  and  myself  walked  forth  into  the 
plantation. 

The  little  dialogue  just  narrated  had  al- 
most entirely  passed  out  of  my  mind,  when, 
at  evening,  returning  from  his  labors  in  the 


312  Capital  Stories 

cornfield,  who  should  make  his  appearance 
but  Scipio.  He  came  to  place  the  gun  in 
the  corner  from  which  he  had  taken  it ;  but 
he  brought  no  trophies  of  victor3^  He  had 
failed  to  scalp  his  crow.  The  inquiry  of  his 
master  as  to  his  failure  drew  my  attention 
to  the  negro,  who  had  simply  placed  the 
weapon  in  the  rest,  and  was  about  to  retire, 
with  a  countenance,  as  I  thought,  rather 
sullen  and  dissatisfied,  and  a  hangdog, 
sneaking  manner,  as  if  anxious  to  escape 
observation.  He  had  utterly  lost  that  air 
of  confidence  which  he  had  worn  in  the 
morning. 

"What,  Scipio!  no  crow?"  demanded 
his  master. 

"  I  no  shoot,  sah,"  replied  the  negro,  mov- 
ing off  as  he  spoke,  as  if  willing  that  the 
examination  should  rest  there.  But  Mr. 
Carrington,  w^ho  was  something  of  a  quiz, 
and  saw  that  the  poor  fellow  labored  under 
a  feeling  of  mortified  self-conceit,  was  not 
unwilling  to  w^orry  him  a  little  further. 

"  Ah,  Scip,  I  alwa3's  thought  you  a  poor 
shot,  in  spite  of  your  bragging  ;  now  I  am 
sure  of  it.  A  crow  comes  and  stares  you 
out  of  countenance,  w^alks  round  you,  and 
scarcely  flies  when  you  pelt  him,  and  yet, 
when  the  gun  is  in  your  hands,  you  do 
nothing.   .  How's  that  ?  " 

''  I  tvill  you,  massa,  I  no  bin  shoot.  Ef 
I  bin  shoot,  I  bin  hurt  um  in  he  head  for 
true  ;  but  dere  no  use  for  shoot  tel  you  can 


By  American  Authors.  313 

get  shot,  inty?  Wha'  for  trow  'way  de 
shot? — you  buy  'em — becos'  30U  money; 
well,  you  hab  money  for  trow  'way  ?  No  \ 
Wha'  den  — Scip's  a  rascal  for  true,  ef  he 
trow  'way  3'ou  money.  Dat's  trow  'way 
you  money,  wha's  trow  'way  3^ou  shot — 
wha's  trow  you  corn,  you  peas,  j^ou  fodder^ 
you  hog-meat,  you  chickens  and  eggs. 
Scip  nebber  trow^  'way  you  property,  massa  \ 
nobody  nebber  say  sich  ting." 

"Cunnmg  dog — nobody  accuses  you, 
Scipio.  I  believe  you  to  be  as  honest  as 
the  rest,  Scipio,  but  haven't  you  been 
throwing  away  time?  Haven't  you  been 
poking  about  after  this  crow  to  the  neglect 
of  your  duty?  Come,  in  plain  language, 
did  you  get  through  your  task  to-day  ?  " 

**  Task  done,  massa  ;  I  finish  um  by  three 
o'clock." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  do  with  the  rest  of 
your  time?  Have  you  been  at  your  own 
garden,  Scipio?" 

"  No,  sah  ;  I  no  touch  de  garden." 

"Why  not?  what  employed  you  from 
three  o'clock?  " 

' '  Dis  same  crow,  massa  ;  I  tell  you, 
massa,  'tis  dis  same  nigger  of  a  crow  I  bin 
looking  arter,  ebber  since  I  git  over  de  task. 
He's  a  ting  da's  too  sassy,  and  aggrabates 
me  berry  much,  I  follow  um  tel  de  sun 
shut  he  eye,  and  nebber  can  git  shot.  Ef  I 
bin  git  shot,  I  nebber  miss  um,  massa,  I  tell 
you." 


3 1 4  Capital  Stories 

' '  But  why  did  you  not  get  a  vshot  ?  You 
must  have  bungled  monstrously,  Scipio, 
not  to  succeed  in  getting  a  shot  at  a  bird 
that  is  always  about  j^ou.  Does  he  bother 
you  less  than  he  did  before,  now  that  you 
have  the  gun  ?  ' ' 

"I  spec'  he  mus'  know,  massa,  da's  de 
reason  j  but  he  bodder  me  jis'  de  same. 
He  nebber  leff  me  all  day  I  bin  in  de  corn- 
field, but  he  nebber  come  so  close  for  be 
shoot.  He  say  to  he  sef,  dat  gun  good  at 
sixty  yard,  in  Scip  hand  ;  I  stan'  sixty,  I 
Stan'  a  hundred  ;  ef  he  shoot  so  far,  I  laf  at 
'em.     Da's  wha'  he  say." 

"  Well,  even  at  seventy  or  eighty  yards, 
you  should  have  tried  him,  Scipio.  The 
gun  that  tells  at  sixt}-,  w411  be  very  apt  to 
tell  at  seventy  or  eighty  yards,  if  the  nerves 
be  good  that  hold  it,  and  the  eye  close. 
Try  him  even  at  a  hundred,  Scipio,  rather 
than  lose  your  crow  ;  but  put  in  yoMX  big- 
gest shot. 

The  conference  ended  with  this  counsel 
of  the  master.  The  fellow  promised  to 
obey,  and  the  next  morning  he  sallied  forth 
with  the  gun  as  before.  By  this  time,  both 
Mr.  Carrington  and  mj'self  had  begun  to 
take  some  interest  in  the  issue  thus  tacitly 
made  up  between  the  field  negro  and  his 
anno3'ing  visitor.  The  anxiet}^  which  the 
former  manifested,  to  destroy,  in  particular, 
one  of  a  tribe,  of  which  the  corn-planter 
has  an  aversion  so  great  as  to  prompt  the 


By  American  Authors.  315 

frequent  desire  of  the  Roman  tyrant  touch- 
ing his  enemies,  and  make  him  wish  that  they 
had  but  one  neck  that  a  single  blow  might 
dispatch  them,  was  no  less  ridiculous  than 
strange  ;  and  we  both  fell  to  our  fancies  to- 
account  for  a  hostility,  which  could  not 
certainly  be  accounted  for  by  any  ordinary 
anxiety  of  the  good  planter  on  such  an 
occasion.  It  was  evident  to  both  of  us  that 
the  imagination  of  Scipio  was  not  inactive  in 
the  strife,  and  knowing  how  exceeding 
supertitious  the  negroes  generally  are,  (and 
indeed,  all  inferior  people,)  after  canvassing 
the  subject  in  various  lights,  without  coming 
to  any  rational  solution,  we  concluded  that 
the  difficulty  arose  from  some  grotesque 
fear  or  fancy,  with  which  the  fellow  had 
been  inspired,  probabl}^  by  some  other 
negro,  on  a  circumstance  as  casual  as  anyone 
of  the  thousand  by  which  the  Roman  augur 
divined,  and  the  soothsayer  gave  forth  his 
oracular  predictions.  Scipio  had  good 
authority  for  attaching  no  small  impor- 
tance to  the  flight  or  stoppage  of  a  bird ; 
and  with  this  grave  justification  of  his  trou- 
bles, we  resolved  to  let  the  matter  rest,  till 
we  could  join  the  negro  in  the  cornfield,  and 
look  for  ourselves  into  the  condition  of  the 
rival  parties. 

This  we  did  that  very  morning.  * '  Possum 
Place" — for  such  had  been  the  whimsical 
name  conferred  upon  his  estate  by  the  pro- 
prietor, in  reference  to  the  vast  numbers  of 


3i6  Capital  Stories 

the  little  animal  nightly  found  upon  it,  the 
opossum,  the  meat  of  which  a  sagacious 
negro  will  alwaj^s  prefer  to  that  of  pig, — lay 
upon  the  Santee  swamp,  and  consisted 
pretty  evenly  of  reclaimed  swamp-land,  in 
which  he  raised  his  cotton,  and  fine  high 
pine-land  hammock,  on  which  he  made  his 
corn.  To  one  of  the  fields  of  the  latter  we 
made  our  way  about  mid-day,  and  were 
happy  to  find  Scipio  in  actual  controversy 
with  the  crow  that  troubled  him.  Contro- 
versy is  scarce  the  word,  but  I  can  find 
no  fitter,  at  this  moment.  The  parties  were 
some  hundred  3'ards  asunder.  The  negro 
was  busy  with  his  hoe,  and  the  gun  leaned 
conveniently  at  hand  on  a  contiguous  and 
charred  pine  stump,  one  of  a  thousand  that 
dotted  the  entire  surface  of  the  spacious 
field  in  which  he  labored.  The  crow  leis- 
urely passed  to  and  fro  along  the  alleys,  now 
lost  among  the  little  hollows  and  hillocks, 
and  now  emerging  into  sight,  sometimes  at 
a  less,  sometimes  at  a  greater  distance,  but 
always  with  a  deportment  of  the  most  brass- 
like indifference  to  the  w^orld  around  him. 
His  gait  was  certainly  as  lordly  and  as  lazy 
as  that  of  a  Castilian  the  third  remove  from 
a  king  and  the  tenth  from  a  shirt.  We  could 
discover  in  him  no  other  singularity  but  this 
marked  audacity  ;  and  both  Mr.  Carring- 
ton'seyes  and  mine  were  stretched  beyond 
their  orbits,  but  in  vain,  to  discover  that 
speck  ot  "  gray  dirt  upon  he  wing,"   which 


By  A  merica n  A  21  thojs.  3 1 7 

Scipio  had  been  very  careful  to  describe 
with  the  particularity  of  one  who  felt  that 
the  duty  would  devolve  on  him  to  brush  the 
jacket  of  the  intruder.  We  learned  from 
the  negro  that  his  sooty  visitor  had  come 
alone  as  usual, — for  though  there  might 
have  been  a  sprinkling  of  some  fifty  crows 
her.e  and  there  about  the  field,  we  could  not 
perceive  that  any  of  them  had  approached 
to  any  more  familiarity  with  that  one  that 
annoyed  him,  than  with  himself.  He  had 
been  able  to  get  no  shot  as  yet,  though  he 
did  not  despair  of  better  fortune  through 
the  day  ;  and  in  order  to  the  better  assur- 
ance of  his  hopes,  the  poor  fellow  had  borne 
what  he  seemed  to  consider  the  taunting: 
swagger  of  the  crow  all  around  him,  with- 
out so  much  as  lifting  weapon,  or  making  a 
single  step  toward  him. 

"  G've  me  your  gun,"  said  Mr.  Carring- 
ton.  *'  If  he  walks  no  faster  than  now,  I'll 
give  him  greater  weight  to  carry." 

But  the  lazy  crow  treated  the  white  mart 
with  a  degree  of  deference  that  made  the 
negro  stare.  He  made  off  at  full  speed  with 
the  first  movement  toward  him,  and  disap- 
peared from  sight  in  a  few  seconds.  We 
lost  him  seemingly  among  the  willows  and 
fern  of  a  little  bay  that  lay  a  few  hundred 
yards  beyond  us. 

"What  think  you  of  that,  Scip?"  de- 
manded the  master.  "  I've  done  more  with 
a  single  motion  than  you've  done  for  days. 


.3 1 S  Capital  Stories 

■with  all  your  poking  and  pelting.  He'll 
hardly  trouble  you  in  a  hurry  again,  though 
if  he  does,  you  know  well  enough  now  how> 
to  get  rid  of  him." 

The  negro's  face  brightened  for  an  instant, 
"but  suddenly  changed,  while  he  replied, — 

"Ah,  massa,  when  you  back  turn,  he 
w^ill  come  gen — he  dah  watch  j^ou  now." 

Sure  enough — we  had  not  proceeded  a 
Tiundred  yards,  before  the  calls  of  Scipio 
•drew  our  attention  to  the  scene  we  had  left. 
The  negro  had  his  hands  uplifted  with  an 
;air  of  horror,  while  a  finger  guided  us  to 
"the  spot  w^here  the  laz}^  crow  was  taking  his 
Tounds,  almost  in  the  very  place  from 
whence  the  hostile  advance  of  Mr.  Carring- 
ton  had  driven  him  ;  and  with  a  listless, 
lounging  strut  of  aristocratic  composure, 
that  provoked  our  wonder  quite  as  much  as 
the  negro's  indignation. 

"  Let  us  see  it  out,"  said  Mr.  C,  return- 
ing to  the  scene  of  action.  "At  him, 
•Scipio;  take  your  gun  and  do  3^our  best. " 

But  this  did  not  seem  necessar5^  Our 
return  to  the  scene  of  action  had  the  effect 
•of  sending  the  sooty  intruder  to  a  distance, 
and  after  lingering  some  time  to  see  if  he 
would  re-appear  while  we  were  present,  but 
Avithout  success,  we  concluded  to  retire 
from  the  ground. 

Some  days  passed  by,  and  I  saw  nothing 
of  Scipio.  It  appears,  however,  that  his 
singular   conflict   with  the   lazy  crow  was 


By  American  Atcthors.  319 

carried  on  with  such  pertinacity  on  the  one 
side,  and  as  little  patience  on  the  other,  as- 
before.  Still,  daily  did  he  provide  himself 
with  the  weapon  and  munitions  of  war, 
making  as  much  fuss  in  loading  it,  and 
putting  in  shot  as  large  as  if  he  proposed 
warfare  on  some  of  the  more  imposing  occu- 
pants of  the  forest,  rather  than  a  simple 
bird,  so  innocent  in  all  respects,  except  the 
single  one  of  corn  stealing,  as  the  crow.  A 
fact,  of  which  we  obtained  possession  some 
time  after,  and  from  the  other  negroes,  en- 
lightened us  somewhat  on  the  subject  of 
Scipio's  own  faith  as  to  the  true  character 
of  his  enemy.  In  loading  his  gun  he 
counted  out  his  shot,  being  careful  to  get  an. 
odd  number.  In  using  big  buck,  he  num- 
bered two  sevens  for  a  load  ;  the  small  buck, 
three  ;  and  seven  times  seven  duck  shot, 
when  he  used  the  latter,  were  counted  out 
as  a  charge,  with  the  studious  nicety  of  the 
jeweler  at  his  pearls  and  diamonds.  Then 
followed  the  mystic  process  of  depositing  the 
load  within  the  tube,  from  which  it  was  to 
issue  forth  in  death  and  devastation.  His 
face  was  turned  from  the  sunlight  ;  the 
blaze  was  not  suffered  to  rest  upon  the  bore 
or  barrel  ;  and  when  the  weapon  was 
charged,  it  was  carried  into  the  field  only 
on  his  left  shoulder.  In  spite  of  all  these 
preparations,  the  lazy  crow  came  and  went 
as  before.  He  betrayed  no  change  of  de- 
meanor ;  he  showed  no  more  consciousness 


320  Capital  Stories 

of  danger  ;  he  submitted  to  pursuit  quietly, 
never  seeming  to  hurry  himself  in  escaping, 
and  was  quite  as  close  an  overseer  of 
Scipio's  conduct,  as  he  had  shown  himself 
from  the  first.  Not  a  da}"  passed  that  the 
negro  failed  to  shoot  at  him  ;  always,  how- 
ever, by  his  own  account,  at  disadvantage, 
and  never,  it  appears,  with  any  success. 
The  consequence  of  all  this  w^as,  that  Scipio 
fell  sick.  What  with  the  constant  anno^^- 
ance  of  the  thing,  and  a  too  excitable  imagi- 
nation, Scipio,  a  stout  fellow  nearly  six  feet 
high,  and  half  as  many  broad,  laid  himself 
at  length  in  his  cabin,  at  the  end  of  the 
week,  and  was  placed  on  the  sick  list  accord- 
ingl3^  But  as  a  negro  will  never  take 
physic,  if  he  can  help  it,  however  ready  he 
may  be  to  complain,  it  was  not  till  Sunday 
afternoon,  that  Jane  Carrington,  taking  her 
customary  stroll  on  that  day  to  the  negro 
quarters,  ascertained  the  fact.  She  at  once 
apprised  her  father,  who  was  something  of 
a  physician  (as  every  planter  should  be), 
and  who  immediately  proceeded  to  visit  the 
invalid.  He  found  him  without  any  of  the 
customary  signsof  sickness.  His  pulse  was 
low  and  feeble,  rather  than  full  or  fast  ;  his 
tongue  tolerably  clean  ;  his  skin  not  un- 
pleasant, and  in  all  ordinary  respects  Scipio 
would  have  been  pronounced  in  very  good 
condition  for  his  daily  task,  and  his  hog 
and  hominy.  The  more  the  master  ob- 
served him,  the  more  diflScult  it  became  to 


By  America?i  Authors.  321 

titter  an  opinion  ;  and  he  was  finally  com- 
pelled to  leave  him  for  the  night,  without 
medicine,  judging  it  wiser  to  let  nature  take 
the  subject  in  hand,  until  he  could  properly 
determine  in  what  respect  he  suffered.  But 
the  morrow  brought  no  alleviation  of 
Scipio's  sufferings.  He  was  still  sick  as 
before — incapable  of  work — indeed,  as  he 
alleged,  unable  to  leave  his  bed,  though  his 
pulse  was  a  little  exaggerated  from  the  night 
previous,  and  exhibited  only  that  degree  of 
energy  and  fullness,  which  might  be  sup- 
posed natural  to  one  moved  by  sudden 
physical  excitement. 

Mr.  C.  was  puzzled,  and  concluded  to 
avoid  the  responsibility  of  such  a  case,  by 
sending  for  the  neighboring  physician.     Dr. 

C ,  a  very  clever  and   well-read   man, 

soon  made  his  appearance,  and  was  regu- 
larly introduced  to  the  patient.  His  replies 
to  the  physician  were  as  little  satisfactory 
as  those  which  he  had  made  to  us  ;  and  after 
a  long  and  tedious  cross-examination  by 
doctor  and  master,  the  conclusion  was  still 
the  same.  Some  few  things,  however, 
transpired  in  the  inquiry,  which  led  us  all 
to  the  same  inference  with  the  doctor,  who 
ascribed  Scipio's  condition  to  some  mental 
hallucination.  While  the  conversation  had 
been  going  on  in  his  cabin — a  dwelling  like 
most  negro  houses,  made  with  poles,  and 
the  chinks  stopped  with  clay — he  turned  ab- 
ruptly from  the  physician  to  a  negro  girl 


322  Capital  Stories 

that  brought  him  soup,  and  asked  the  fol- 
lowing question  : 

' '  Who  bin  tell  Gullah  Sam  for  come  in 
yer  yisserday  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  confused  and  made  no 
answer. 

"  Answer  him,"  said  the  master. 

*'  Da's  him — why  3^ou  no  talk,  nigger?  " 
said  the  patient  authoritatively.  "  I  ax  you, 
who  bin  tell  Gullah  Sam  for  come  in  yer 
yisserday  ?  " 

"He  bin  come?"  responded  the  girl 
with  another  inquiry. 

"  Sure,  he  bin  come — enty  I  see  um  w4d 
he  dirty  gray  jacket,  like  dirt  on  a  crow 
wing?  He  tink  I  no  see  um — he  'tan  der 
in  dis  corner,  close  de  chimney,  and  look 
wha'sacookin  de  pot.  Oh,  how  my  ear 
bu'n— somebody's  a  talking  bad  tings  about 
Scipio  now." 

There  was  a  good  deal  in  this  speech  to 
interest  Mr.  Carrington  and  myself;  we 
could  trace  something  of  illness  to  his  strife 
with  the  crow  ;  but  who  was  Gullah  Sam  ? 
This  was  a  question  put  both  by  the  doctor 
and  myself  at  the  same  moment. 

**  Yog  no  know  Gullah  Sam,  enty  ?  Ha  ! 
better  you  don't  know  um — he's  a  nigger 
da's  more  dan  nigger — wish  he  mind  he 
own  business." 

With  these  w^ords  the  patient  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall  of  his  habitation,  and 
seemed    unwilling    to     vouchsafe    us    any 


By  American  Authors.  323 

further  speech.  It  was  thought  unnecessary 
to  annoy  poor  Scipio  with  further  inquiries, 
and  leaving  the  cabin,  we  obtained  the  de- 
sired information  from  his  master. 

*' GuUah  Sam,"  said  he,  "  is  a  native 
born  African  from  the  Gold  Coast,  who  be- 
longs to  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Jamison,  and 
was  bought  by  his  father  out  of  a  Rhode 
Island  slaver,  some  time  before  the  Revolu- 
tion. He  is  now,  as  you  may  suppose, 
rather  an  old  man  ;  and,  to  all  appearances, 
would  seem  a  simple  and  silly  one  enough  ; 
but  the  negroes  all  around  regard  him  to  be 
a  great  conjuror,  and  look  upon  his  powers 
as  a  wizard,  with  a  degree  of  dread,  only  to 
be  accounted  for  by  the  notorious  supersti- 
tion of  ignorance.  The  little  conversation 
which  we  have  had  with  Scipio,  in  his 
partial  delirium,  has  revealed  to  me  what 
a  sense  of  shame  has  kept  him  from  de- 
claring before.  He  believes  himself  to  be 
bewitched  by  Gullah  Sam." 

'  *  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  was 
my  inquiry. 

'  *  Nay,  that  question  I  cannot  answer  you. 
It  is  a  work  of  philosophy,  rather  than  of 
physic,  and  we  must  become  the  masters  of 
the  case,  before  we  can  prescribe  for  it.  We 
must  note  the  fancies  of  the  patient  himself, 
and  make  these  subservient  to  the  case.  I 
know  of  no  other  remedy." 

That  evening,  we  all  returned  to  the  cabin 
of  Scipio.     We  found  him  more  composed, 


324  Capital  Stories 

sane,  perhaps,  would  be  the  proper  word, 
than  in  the  morning,  and  accordingly, 
perfectly  silent  on  the  subject  of  Gullah 
Sam.  His  master  took  the  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  him  in  plain  language. 

' '  Scipio,  why  do  you  try  to  keep  the 
truth  from  me  ?  Have  you  ever  found  me 
a  bad  master,  that  you  stould  fear  to  tell 
me  the  truth  ?  ' ' 

"Nebber  say  sich  ting  !  Who  tell  you, 
massa  I  say  you  bad?"  replied  the  negro 
with  a  lofty  air  of  indignation,  rising  on  his 
arm  in  the  bed. 

"  Why  should  you  keep  the  truth  from 
me?  "  was  the  ^epl3^ 

"  Wha'  trute  I  keep  from  you,  massa  ?  " 

"The  cause  of  your  sickness,  Scipio. 
Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  Gullah  Sara 
had  bewitched  you  ? ' ' 

The  negro  was  confounded. 

"  How  you  know,  massa  ?  "  was  his  de- 
mand. 

"  It  matters  not."  replied  the  master, 
**but  how  came  Gullah  Sam  to  bewitch 
you  ? ' ' 

"  He  kin  'witch,  den,  massa  ?  "  was  the 
rather  triumphant  demand  of  the  negro, 
who  saw  in  his  master's  remark,  a  conces- 
sion to  his  faith,  which  had  always  been 
withheld  before.  Mr.  Carrington extricated 
himself  from  the  dilemma  with  sufficient 
promptness  and  ingenuity. 

"The   devil  has  power,  Scipio,  over  all 


By  American  Authors.  325 

that  believe  in  him.  If  you  beUeve  that 
Gullah  Sam  can  do  with  you  what  he 
pleases,  in  spite  of  God  and  the  Saviour, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  can  ;  and  God  and 
the  Saviour  will  alike  give  you  up  to  his 
power,  since  when  you  believe  in  the  devil, 
you  refuse  to  believe  in  them.  They  have 
told  you,  and  the  preacher  has  told  you, 
and  I  have  told  yon,  that  Gullah  Sam  can 
do  5^ou  no  sort  of  harm,  if  you  will  refuse 
to  believe  in  what  he  tells  you.  Why  then 
do  you  believe  in  that  miserable  and  igno- 
rant old  African,  sooner  than  in  God,  and 
the  preacher,  and  myself?" 

"I  can't  help  it,  massa — de  ting's  de  ting, 
and  you  can't  change  um.  Dis  Gullah  Sam 
— he  wuss  more  nor  ten  debble — I  jis'  laugh 
at  um  t'other  day — tree  week  'go  when  he 
tumble  in  the  hoss  pond,  and  he  shake  he 
finger  at  me,  and  ebber  since,  he  put  he  bad 
mout'  'pon  me.  Ebber  sence  dat  time,  dat 
ugly  crow  bin  stand  in  my  eyes,  whichebber 
way  I  tu'n.  He  hab  gray  dirt  on  he  wing, 
and  enty  dere's  a  gray  patch  on  Gullah  Sam 
jacket?  Gullah  Sam  hab  close  quaintan' 
wid  dat  same  lazy  crow  da's  walk  roun'  me 
in  de  cornfield,  massa.  I  bin  tink  so  from 
de  fuss  ;  and  when  he  'tan  and  le'  me  shoot 
at  um,  and  no  'fraid,  den  I  sartain." 

*'  Well,  Scipio,"  said  the  master,  "  I  will 
soon  put  an  end  to  Sam's  power.  I  will  see 
Mr.  Jamison,  and  will  have  Sam  well 
flogged    for  his    witchcraft.     I  think  you 


26  Capital  Stories 


ought  to  be  convinced  that  a  wizard  who 
suffers  himself  to  be  flogged,  is  but  a  poor 
devil  after  all." 

The  answer  of  the  negro  was  full  of  con- 
sternation. 

"  Massa,  I  beg  you  do  no  sich  ting.  Yo 
lick  GuUah  Sam,  den  you  loss  Scipio  for 
eber  and  eber,  amen.  Gullah  Sam  nebber 
guine  take  off  de  bad  mout'  he  put  on  Scip, 
once  you  lick  em." 

A  long  conversation  ensued  among  us, 
Scipio  taking  occasional  part  in  it ;  for,  now 
that  his  secret  was  known,  he  seemed  some- 
what relieved,  and  gave  utterance  freely  to 
his  fears  and  superstitions  ;  and  determined 
for  and  against  the  remedies  which  we 
severally  proposed,  with  the  authority  of 
one,  not  onl}"  more  deeply  interested  in  the 
case  than  any  one  beside,  but  who  also  knew 
more  about  it.  Having  unscrupulously  op- 
posed nearly  every  plan,  even  in  its  incep- 
tion, which  was  suggested,  his  master,  out 
of  .patience,  at  last  exclaimed, 

"Well,  Scipio,  it  seems  nothing  will 
please  you.  What  would  you  have  ?  What 
course  shall  I  take  to  dispossess  the  devil, 
and  send  Guilah  Sam  about  his  business?" 

After  a  brief  pause,  in  which  the  negro 
twisted  from  side  to  side  of  his  bed,  he 
answered  as  follows  : 

"  Ef  you  kin  trow  away  money  on  Scip, 
massa,  dere's  a  way  I  tink  'pon,  dat'll  do 
um   help,   if  dere's  any  ting  kin  help  um 


By  American  Aiiihoj's.  2>'^'j 

now,  widout  go  to  Gullah  Sam.  But  it's  a 
berry  'spensive  way,  massa." 

"  How  much  will  it  cost?  "  demanded  the 
master.  "  I  am  not  unwilling  to  pay  money 
for  you,  either  to  cure  you  when  you  are 
sick,  as  you  ought  to  knov/,  by  my  sending 
for  the  doctor,  or  by  putting  more  sense  into 
your  head  than  you  seem  to  have  at  present. 
How  much  money  do  you  think  it  will  take 
to  send  the  devil  out  of  you  ?  ' ' 

"Ha!  massa,  you  no  speak  '.spectful 
'nough.  Dis  Gullah  Sam  hard  to  move  ; 
more  dan  de  lazy  crow  dat  walk  in  de  corn- 
field. He  will  take  money  'nough  ;  mos'  a 
bag  ob  cotton  in  dese  hard  times." 

* '  Pshaw — speak  out,  and  tell  me  what 
you  mean  !  "  said  the  now  thoroughly  im- 
patient master. 

"Dere's  an  old  nigger,  massa,  dat's  an 
Ebo — he  lib  ober  on  St.  Matthew's,  by  de 
bluff,  place  of  Major  Thompson.  He's 
mighty  great  hand  for  cure  bad  mout' .  He's 
named 'Tuselah,  and  Gullah  Sam  lear'd  urn 
— berry  fear'd  um.  You  send  for  'Tuselah, 
massa,  he  cos'  you  more  nor  twenty  dollars. 
Scipio  git  well  for  sartin." 

"If  I  thought  so,"  replied  Mr.  Carring- 
ton,  looking  round  upon  us,  as  if  himself 
half-ashamed  to  give  in  to  the  suggestions 
of  the  negro.  "  But,  3'ou  shall  have  your 
wish,  Scipio.  I  will  send  a  man  to-morrow 
by  daylight  to  St.  Matthew's  for  Methu- 
selah, and  if  he  can  overcome  Giil 


328  Capital  Stones 

at  his  own  weapo;is,  I  shall  not  begrudge 
him  the  twenty  dollars." 

"Tanks,  massa.  tousand  tanks!"  was 
the  reply  of  the  invalid  ;  his  countenance 
suddenly  brightening  for  the  first  time  for  a 
week,  as  if  already  assured  of  the  happy 
termination  of  his  affliction.  Meanwhile, 
we  left  him  to  his  cogitations. 

The  indulgent  master  that  night  addressed 
a  letter  to  the  owner  of  Methuselah,  stating 
all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  solic- 
iting permission  for  the  wizard,  of  whom 
such  high  expectations  were  formed,  or 
fancied,  to  return  with  the  messenger,  who 
took  with  him  an  extra  horse,  that  the  jour- 
ney might  be  made  with  sufficient  dispatch. 
To  this  application  a  ready  assent  was  given, 
and  the  messenger  returned  on  the  day  after 
his  departure,  attended  by  the  sage  African 
in  question.  Methuselah  was  an  African, 
about  sixty-five  years  of  age,  with  a  head 
round  as  an  owl's,  and  a  countenance  quite 
as  grave  and  contemplative.  His  features 
indicated  all  the  marked  characteristics  of 
his  race,  low  forehead,  high  cheek  bone, 
small  ej-es,  flat. nose,  thick  lips,  and  a  chin 
sharp  and  retreating.  He  was  not  more  than 
five  feet  high,  and  with  legs  so  bowed  that 
— to  use  Scipio's  expression,  when  he  was 
so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  again  to  laugh 
at  his  neighbor — a  3'earling  calf  might 
easily  run  between  them  without  grazing 
the  calf.     There  was  nothing  promising  in 


By  American  Authors.  329 

such  a  person  but  his  sententiousness  and 
gravity,  and  Methuselah  possessed  these 
characteristics  in  a  remarkable  degree. 
When  asked — 

* '  Can  you  cure  this  fellow  ? ' '  his  answer, 
almost  insolently  expressed,  was, — 

"Icomefor  dat." 

' '  You  can  cure  people  who  are  bewitched?" 

"He  no  dead?" 

"No." 

"Bally  well — can't  cure  dead  nigger." 

There  was  but  little  to  be  got  out  of  such  a 
character  by  examination,  direct  or  cross  ; 
and  attending  him  to  Scipio's  wigwam,  we 
tacitly  resolved  to  look  as  closely  into  his 
proceedings  as  we  could,  assured,  that  in  no 
other  way  could  we  possibly  hope  to  arrive 
at  any  knowledge  of  his  modus  operandi  in 
so  curious  a  case. 

Scipio  was  very  glad  to  see  the  wizard  of 
St.  Matthew's,  and  pointing  to  a  chair,  the 
only  one  in  his  chamber,  he  left  us  to  the 
rude  stools,  of  which  there  happened  to  be 
a  sufficient  supply. 

"Well,  brudder,"  said  the  African  ab- 
ruptly, ' '  wha's  matter  ?  ' ' 

"  Ha,  Mr.  'Tuselah,  I  bin  hab  berry  bad 
mout'  put  'pon  me." 

"  I  know  dat — you  eyes  run  water— you 
ears  hot — you  hab  knee  shake — you  trimble 
in  de  joint." 

"You  hit  um  ;  'tis  jis'  dem  same  ting.  I 
hab  ears  bu'  n  berry  much, ' '  and  thus  encour- 


330  Capital  Stories 

aged  to  detail  his  symptoms,  the  garrulous 
Scipio  would  have  prolonged  his  chronicle 
to  the  crack  of  doom,  but  that  the  wizard 
valued  his  time  too  much,  to  suffer  any  un- 
necessary eloquence  on  the  part  of  his  patient. 

"  You  see  two  tings  at  a  time?"  asked 
the  African. 

'  *  How  !  I  no  see, ' '  replied  Scipio,  not 
comprehending  the  question,  which  simply 
meant,  do  you  ever  see  double  ?  To  this, 
when  explained,  he  answered  in  a  decided 
negative. 

"  'Tis  a  man  den,  put  he  bad  mout'  'pen 
you,"  said  the  African. 

"  How  you  know  dat?"  exclaimed  Scipio. 

"  Hush,  my  brudder — wha'  beas'  he  look 
like?" 

*'  He's  a  black  nigger  of  a  crow — a  dirty 
crow,  da's  lazy  for  true." 

"  Ha  !  he  lazy — you  sure  he  ain't  lame  ?" 

"He  no  lame." 

Scipio  then  gave  a  close  description  of  the 
crow  which  had  pestered  him,  precisely  as 
he  had  given  it  to  his  master,  as  recorded  in 
our  previous  pages.  The  African  heard 
him  with  patience,  then  proceeded  with 
oracular  gravity. 

"  'Tis  old  man  wha's  troubles  you  !  "   • 

'*  Da's  a  trute  !  " 

"Hush,  my  brudder.     Wha's  you  see  dis 


crow 


?" 


*'  Crow  in  de  cornfiel',  Mr.  'Tuselah  ;  he 
can't  come  in  de  house." 


By  American  Authors.  331 

"  Who  bin  wid  you  all  de  time  ?  " 

**  Jenny — de  gal — he  'tan  up  in  de  corner 

now. ' ' 

The  magician  turned  and  looked  upon 

the  person  indicated  by  Scipio's  finger — a 

little  negro  girl,   probably   ten   years  old. 

Then  turning  again  to  Scipio,  he  asked, 

*  *  You  bin  sick  two,  tree,  seben  day, 
brudder — how  long  you  been  on  you  bed  ?" 

**  Since  Saturday  night — da's  six  day 
to-day." 

*  *  And  you  hab  nobody  come  for  look  'pon 
you,  since  you  have  been  on  de  bed,  but  dis 
gal,  and  de  buckrah  ? ' ' 

Scipio  confessed  to  several  of  the  field 
negroes,  servants  of  his  own  master,  all  of 
whom  he  proceeded  to  describe  in  compli- 
ance with  the  requisitions  of  the  wizard, 
who,  as  if  still  unsatisfied,  bade  him,  in 
stern  accents,  remember  if  nobody  else  had 
been  in  the  cabin,  or,  in  his  own  language, 
had  "  set  he  eye  'pon  you." 

The  patient  hesitated  for  awhile,  but  the 
question  being  repeated,  he  confessed  that 
in  a  half-sleep  or  stupor,  he  had  fancied 
seeing  Gullah  Sam  looking  in  upon  him 
through  the  half-opened  door;  and  at  an- 
other time  had  caught  glimpses,  in  his 
sleep,  of  the  same  features,  through  a  chink 
between  the  logs,  where  the  clay  had  fallen. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  said  the  wizard,  with  a  half- 
savage  grin  of  mingled  delight  and  sagacity 
— **  I  hab  nose — I  smell.     Well,  brudder,  I 


332  Capital  Stories 

mus'  gib  you  physic — you  mus'  hab  good 
sweat  to-night,  and  smood  skin  to-morrow. ' ' 

Thus  ended  the  conference  wath  Scipio. 
The  man  of  mystery  arose  and  left  the  hovel, 
bidding  us  follow,  and  carefully  fastening 
the  door  after  him. 

This  done,  he  anointed  some  clay  which 
he  gathered  in  the  neighborhood,  w^th  his 
spittle,  and  plastered  it  over  the  lintel.  He 
retired  with  us  a  little  distance,  and  when 
we  were  about  to  separate,  he  for  the  woods, 
and  we  for  the  dwelling-house,  he  said  in 
tones  more  respectful  than  those  which  he 
employed  to  Mr.  Carrington  on  his  first 
coming. 

**  You  hab  niggers,  massa — women  in  de 
bes' — dat  lub  for  talk  too  much  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  dozen  of  them." 

' '  You  sen'  one  to  de  plantation  where  dis 
Gullah  Sam  lib,  but  don't  sen'  um  to  Gullah 
Sam  ;  sen'  um  to  he  massa  or  he  misses  ; 
and  borrow  something — any  ting — old  pot 
or  kettle — no  matter  if  you  don't  want  'em, 
3'ou  beg  um  for  lend  you.     Da's  'nough." 

Mr.  Carrington  would  have  had  the 
wizard's  reasons  for  the  wish,  but  finding 
him  reluctant  to  declare  them,  he  promised 
his  consent,  concluding,  as  was  perhaps  the 
case,  that  the  only  object  was  to  let  Gullah 
Sam  know  that  a  formidable  enemy  had 
taken  the  field  against  him,  and  in  defence 
of  his  victim.  This  would  seem  to  account 
for  his  desire  that  the  messenger  should  be 


By  American  Authors.  333 

a  woman,  and  one  ' '  wha'  lub  for  talk  too 
much."  He  then  obtained  directions  for 
the  nearest  path  to  the  swamp,  and  when 
we  looked,  that  night,  into  the  wigwam  of 
Scipio,  we  found  him  returned  with  a  peck 
of  roots  of  sundry  sorts,  none  of  which  we 
knew,  prepared  to  make  a  decoction,  in 
which  his  patient  was  to  be  immersed  from 
head  to  heels.  Leaving  Scipio  with  the 
contemplation  of  this  steaming  prospect  be- 
fore him,  we  retired  for  the  night,  not  a  lit- 
tle anxious  for  those  coming  events  which 
cast  no  shadow  before  us,  or  one  so  impene- 
trably thick,  that  we  failed  utterly  to  see 
through  it. 

In  the  morning,  strange  to  say,  we  found 
Scipio  considerably  better,  and  in  singularly 
good  spirits.  The  medicaments  of  the 
African,  or  more  likely  the  pliant  imagina- 
tion of  the  patient  himself,  had  wrought  a 
charm  in  his  behalf;  and  instead  of  groan- 
ing at  every  syllable,  as  he  had  done  for 
several  days  before,  he  now  scarcely  uttered 
a  word  that  was  not  accompanied  by  a  grin. 
The  magician  seemed  scarcely  less  pleased 
than  his  patient,  particularly  when  he  in- 
formed us  that  he  had  not  only  obtained 
the  article  the  woman  was  sent  to  borrow, 
but  that  Gullah  Sam  had  been  seen  prowl- 
ing, late  at  night,  about  the  negro  houses, 
without  daring,  however,  to  venture  nigh 
that  of  the  invalid — a  forbearance  which  the 
necromancer  gave  us  to  understand,  was 


334  Capital  Stories 

entirely  involuntary,  and  in  spite  of  the 
enemy's  desire,  who  was  baffled  and  kept 
away  by  the  spell  contained  in  the  ointment 
which  he  had  placed  on  the  lintel,  in  our 
presence  the  evening  before.  Still,  half- 
ashamed  of  being  even  quiescent  parties 
merely  to  this  solemn  mummery,  we  were 
anxious  to  see  the  end  of  it,  and  our  African 
promised  that  he  would  do  much  toward 
relieving  Scipio  from  his  enchantment  by 
night  of  the  same  day.  His  spells  and 
fomentations  had  worked  equally  well,  and 
Scipio  was  not  only  more  confident  in  mind, 
but  more  sleek  and  strong  in  bod5^  With 
his  own  hands,  it  appears,  that  the  wizard 
had  rubbed  down  the  back  and  shoulders  of 
his  patient  with  corn-shucks  steeped  in  the 
decoction  he  had  made,  and,  what  was  a 
more  strange  specific  still,  he  had  actually 
subjected  Scipio  to  a  smarter  punishment, 
wuth  a  stout  hickory,  than  his  master  had 
given  him  for  many  a  year  ;  and  which  the 
poor  fellow  not  only  bore  with  Christian 
fortitude,  but  actually  rejoiced  in,  imploring 
additional  strokes  when  the  other  ceased. 
We  could  very  well  understand  that  Scipio 
deserved  a  whipping  for  laughing  at  an  aged 
man,  because  he  fell  into  the  water,  but  we 
failed  to  ascertain  from  the  taciturn  wizard, 
that  this  was  the  rationale  of  an  application 
which  a  negro  ordinarily  is  never  found  to 
approve.  This  over,  Scipio  was  again  put 
to  bed,  a  green  twig  hung  over  the  door 


By  American  Authors.  335 

of  his  cabin  within,  while  the  unctuous 
plaster  was  renewed  freshly  on  the  outside. 
The  African  then  repeated  certain  uncouth 
sounds  over  the  patient,  bade  him  shut  his 
eyes  and  go  to  sleep,  in  order  to  be  in  readi- 
ness, and  go  into  the  fields  by  the  time  the 
sun  was  turning  for  the  west. 

*'  What,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carrington,  '*  do 
you  think  him  able  to  go  into  the  field  to- 
day ?  He  is  very  weak  ;  he  has  taken  little 
nourishment  for  several  days. ' ' 

'*  He  mus'  able,"  returned  the  imperative 
African;  "he  'trong  'nough.  He  mus' 
able — he  hab  for  carry  gun." 

With  these  words,  the  wizard  left  us, 
without  deigning  any  explanation  of  his 
future  purposes,  and  taking  his  way  toward 
the  swamp,  he  was  soon  lost  to  our  eyes  in 
the  mighty  depth  of  its  shrouding  recesses. 

When  he  returned,  which  was  not  till 
noon,  he  came  at  once  to  the  mansion-house, 
without  seeking  his  patient,  and  entering 
the  hall  where  the  family  was  assembled, 
he  challenged  our  attention,  as  well  by  his 
appearance,  as  by  his  words.  He  had,  it 
would  seem,  employed  himself  in  arranging 
his  own  appearance  while  in  the  swamp  ; 
perhaps,  taking  one  of  its  thousand  lakes  or 
ponds  for  his  mirror.  His  woolly  hair, 
which  was  very  long,  was  plaited  carefully 
up,  so  that  the  ends  stuck  out  from  his  brow, 
as  prompt  and  pointedly  as  the  tails  of  pigs, 
suddenly  aroused  to  a  show  of  delightful 


336  Capital  Stories 

consciousness  on  discovering  a  forgotten 
corn-heap.  Perhaps  that  sort  of  tobacco, 
known  by  the  attractive  and  characteristic 
title  of  ''pigtail,"  would  be  the  most  fitting 
to  convey  to  the  mind  of  the  reader  the 
peculiar  form  of  plait  which  the  wizard  had 
adopted  for  his  hair.  This  mode  of  dispos- 
ing of  his  matted  mop,  served  to  display 
the  tattooed  and  strange  figures  upon  his 
temples — the  certain  signs,  as  he  assured  us, 
of  princely  rank  in  his  native  country.  He 
carried  a  long  wand  in  his  hand,  freshly  cut 
and  peeled,  at  one  end  of  which  he  had  tied 
a  small  hempen  cord.  The  skin  of  the 
wand  was  plaited  round  his  own  neck.  In 
a  large  leaf  he  brought  with  him  a  small 
portion  of  something  which  he  seemed  to 
preserve  very  carefully,  but  which  appeared 
to  us  to  be  nothing  more  than  coarse  sand 
or  gravel.  To  this,  he  added  a  small  por- 
tion of  salt,  which  he  obtained  from  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  and  which  he  stirred 
together  in  our  presence,  until  the  salt  had 
been  lost  to  the  eye  in  the  sand  or  gravel,  or 
w^hatever  might  have  been  the  article  which 
he  had  brought  with  him.  This  done,  he 
drew  the  shot  from  both  barrels  of  the  gun, 
and  in  its  place,  deposited  the  mixture  which 
he  had  thus  prepared. 

"  Buckrah  will  come  'long  now.  Scipio 
gwine  look  for  de  crow." 

Such  were  his  words,  which  he  did  not 
wait  to  hear  answered  or  disputed,  but  tak- 


By  American  Authors.  337 

ing  the  gun  and  leading  the  way  off  toward 
the  wigwam  of  Scipio,  while  our  anxiety  to 
see  the  conclusion  of  the  adventure  did  not 
suffer  us  to  lose  any  time  in  following  him. 
To  our  surprise,  we  found  Scipio  dressed 
and  up  ;  ready,  and  it  would  seem  perfectly 
able,  to  undertake  what  the  African  as- 
signed him.  The  gun  was  placed  in  his 
hands,  and  he  was  told  to  take  his  way  to 
the  cornfield  as  usual,  and  proceed  to  work. 
He  was  also  informed  by  the  wizard,  with  a 
confidence  that  surprised  us,  that  the  lazy 
crow  would  be  sure  to  be  there  as  usual ; 
and  he  was  desired  to  get  as  close  as  he 
could,  and  take  good  aim  at  his  head  in 
shooting  him. 

"  You  sure  for  hit  um,  brudder,"  said  the 
African  ;  **so  don't  'tan'  too  long  for  look. 
Jis'  you  git  close,  take  you  sight,  and  gib 
um  bot'  barrel.  But  fuss,  'fore  you  go,  I 
mus'  do  someting  wid  you  eye." 

The  plaster  was  taken  from  the  door,  as 
Scipio  passed  through  it,  re-softened  with 
the  saliva  of  the  wizard,  who,  with  his  fin- 
ger, described  an  arched  line  over  each  of 
the  patient's  eyes. 

"  You  go  'long  by  you'sef  now,  brudder, 
and  shoot  de  crow  when  you  see  um.  He's 
a  waiting  for  you  now,  I  'spec'." 

We  were  about  to  follow  Scipio  to  the 
field,  but  our  African  kept  us  back  ;  and 
leading  the  way  to  a  little  copse  that  divided 
it  from  the  swamp,  he  took  us  to  its  shelter, 


338  Capital  Stories 

and  required  us  to  remain  with  him  out  of 
sight  of  the  field,  until  some  report  from 
Scipio  or  his  gun,  should  j ustify  us  in  going 
forth. 

Here  we  remained,  in  no  little  anxiety, 
for  the  space  of  two  hours,  in  which  time, 
however,  the  African  showed  no  sort  of  im- 
patience, and  none  of  that  feverish  anxiety 
which  made  us  restless  in  body,  and,  eager 
to  the  last  degree,  in  mind.  We  tried  to 
fathom  his  mysteries,  but  in  vain.  We  heard 
the  sound  of  Scipio' s  gun — and  set  off  with 
full  speed  toward  the  quarter  whence  it 
came.  The  wizard  followed  us  slowly,  wav- 
ing his  wand  in  circles  all  the  way,  and  pull- 
ing the  withes  from  his  neck,  and  casting 
them  around  him  as  he  came.  During  this 
time,  his  mouth  was  in  constant  motion,  and 
I  could  hear  at  moments,  strange,  uncouth 
sounds  breaking  from  his  lips.  When  he 
reached  Scipio,  the  fellow  was  in  a  state 
little  short  of  delirium.  He  had  fired  both 
barrels,  and  had  cast  the  gun  down  upon  the 
ground  after  the  discharge.  He  was  wring- 
ing his  hands  above  his  head  in  a  sort  of 
frenzy  of  joy,  and  at  our  approach  he 
threw  himself  down  upon  the  earth,  laugh- 
ing with  the  delight  of  one  who  had  lost  his 
wits  in  a  dream  of  pleasure. 

"Where's  the  crow?"  demanded  his 
master. 

"  I  shoot  um — I  shoot  um  in  he  head — 
enty  I  tell  you,  massa,  I  will  hit  um  in  he 


By  American  Authors.  339 

head  ?  Soon  he  poke  he  nose  ober  de  ground, 
I  gib  it  to  urn.  Hope  he  bin  large  vShot.  He 
gone  t' rough  he  head — t' rough  and  t' rough. 
Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  If  dat  crow  be  GuUah 
Sam  !  if  Gullah  Sam  be  git  in  crow  jacket, 
ho,  massa  !  he  nebber  git  out  crow  jacket 
'til  somebody  skin  um.  Ha  !  ha  !  ho  !  ho  ! 
ho  !  ki !  ki  !  ki !  ki !  la  !  ki !  Oh,  massa, 
wonder  how  Gullah  Sam  feel  in  crow 
jacket? " 

It  was  in  this  strain  of  incoherent  ex- 
clamation, that  the  invalid  gave  vent  to  his 
joyful  paroxysm,  at  the  thought  of  having 
put  a  handful  of  duck  shot  in  the  hide  of 
his  mortal  enemy.  The  unchristian  charac- 
ter of  his  exultation  received  a  severe  reproof 
from  his  master,  which  sobered  the  fellow 
sufi&ciently  to  enable  us  to  get  from  him  a 
more  sane  description  of  his  doings.  He  told 
us  that  the  crow  had  come  to  bedevil  him  as 
usual,  only — and  the  fact  became  subse- 
quently of  considerable  importance — that  he 
had  now  lost  the  gray  dirt  from  his  wing, 
which  had  so  peculiarly  distinguished  it 
before,  and  was  now  as  black  as  the  most 
legitimate  suit  ever  worn  by  crow,  priest, 
lawyer,  or  physician.  This  change  in  the 
outer  aspect  of  the  bird  had  somewhat  con- 
founded the  negro,  and  made  him  loth  to 
expend  his  shot,  for  fear  of  wasting  the 
charmed  charge  upon  other  than  the  genu- 
ine Simon  Pure.  But  the  deportment  of  the 
other — lazy,  lounging,  swaggering,  as  usual. 


340  Capital  Stories 

convinced  Scipio,  in  spite  of  his  eyes,  that 
his  old  enemy  stood  in  fact  before  him  ;  and 
without  wasting  time,  he  gave  him  both 
barrels  at  the  same  moment. 

' '  But  Where's  the  crow  ?  ' '  demanded  the 
master. 

**  I  knock  um  ober,  massa,  I  see  um  tum- 
ble ;  'speck  you  find  um  t'oder  side  de  corn- 
hill." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  consternation 
of  Scipio,  when,  on  reaching  the  designated 
spot,  we  found  no  sign  of  the  supposed  vic- 
tim. The  poor  fellow  rubbed  his  e5^es,  in 
doubt  of  their  visual  capacities,  and  looked 
round  aghast  for  an  explanation  to  the 
wizard  who  was  now  approaching,  waving 
his  wand  in  long  sweeping  circles  as  he 
came,  and  muttering,  as  before,  those 
strange  uncouth  sounds,  which  we  relished 
as  little  as  we  understood.  He  did  not  seem 
at  all  astonished  at  the  result  of  Scipio' s 
shot,  but  abruptly  asked  of  him — "  Wa's  de 
fus'  water,  brudder  Scip?  " 

"  De  water  in  de  bay.  Master  'Tuselah," 
was  the  reply  ;  the  speaker  pointing  as  he 
spoke  to  the  little  spot  of  drowned  land  on 
the  very  corner  of  the  field,  which,  covered 
with  thick  shoots  of  the  small  sweet  bay 
tree — the  magnolia  flacca — receives  its  com- 
mon name  among  the  people  from  its  almost 
peculiar  growth. 

* '  Push  for  de  bay  !  push  for  de  bay  !  ' ' 
exclaimed  the  African,  "and  see  wha' you 


By  A7nerica7i  Authors,  341 

see.  Run,  Scip  ;  run,  nigger — see  wha'  lay- 
in  de  baj^ ! ' ' 

These  words,  scarcely  understood  by  us, 
set  Scipio  in  motion.  At  full  speed  he  set 
out,  and  conjecturing  from  his  movement, 
rather  than  from  the  words  of  the  African, 
his  expectations,  off  we  set  also  at  full  speed 
after  him.  Before  we  reached  the  spot,  to 
our  great  surprise,  Scipio  emerged  from  the 
bay,  dragging  after  him  the  reluctant  and 
trembling  form  of  the  aged  negro,  GuUah 
Sam.  He  had  found  him  washing  his  face, 
which  was  covered  with  little  pimples  and 
scratches,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  fallen  into 
a  nest  of  briars.  It  was  with  the  utmost 
difficulty  we  could  prevent  Scipio  from 
pummeling  the  dreaded  wizard  to  death. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  face, 
Sam  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Carrington. 

"  Hab  humor,  Massa  Carrington;  bin 
trouble  berry  much  wid  break  out  in  de 
skin." 

"  Da  shot,  massa — da  shot.  I  hit  um  in 
crow  jacket ;  but  wha's  de  gray  di't  ?  Ha  ! 
massa,  look  yer  ;  dis  da  black  suit  of  Misser 
Jam' son  Gullah  Sam  hab  on.  He  no  wear 
he  jacket  wid  gray  patch.  Da's  make  de 
diflf'rence." 

The  magician  from  St.  Matthew's  now 
came  up,  and  our  surprise  was  increased 
when  we  saw  him  extend  his  hand,  with  an 
appearance  of  the  utmost  good  feeling  and 
amity,  to  the  rival  he  had  j  ust  overcome. 


342  Capital  Stories 

"Well,  brudder  Sam,  how  you  come 
on?  " 

The'other  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  and 
with  a  countenance  in  which  we  saw,  or 
fancied,  a  mingling  expression  of  fear  and 
hostility ;  the  latter  being  evidently  re- 
strained by  the  other.  He  gave  his  hand, 
however,  to  the  grasp  of  Methuselah,  but 
said  nothing. 

*'  I  will  come  take  supper  wid  you  to- 
night, brudder  Sam,"  continued  the  wizard 
of  St.  Matthew's,  with  as  much  civility  as 
if  he  spoke  to  the  most  esteemed  friend 
under  the  sun.  "  Scip,  boy,  3^ou  kin  go  to 
you  massa  work — 3'ou  quite  well  ob  dis  busi- 
ness. ' ' 

Scipio  seemed  loth  to  leave  the  company 
while  there  seemed  something  yet  to  be 
done,  and  muttered  half  aloud  : 

"  You  no  ax  Gullah  Sam  wha'  da  he  bin 
do  in  de  bay." 

"Psha,  boy,  go  'long  to  you  comfiel'  — 
enty  I  know,"  replied  Methuselah.  "  Gul- 
lah Sam  bin  'bout  he  own  business,  I  s'pose. 
Brudder,  you  kin  go  home  now,  and  get 
you  tings  ready  for  supper.  I  will  come  see 
you  to-night." 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  the  wizard  of 
St.  Matthew's  was  disposed  to  dismiss  both 
the  patient  and  his  persecutor,  but  here  the 
master  of  Scipio  interposed. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Methuselah.  If  this  fellow, 
Sam,   has  been  playing  any   of  his  tricks 


By  America7i  Authors.  343 

upon  my  people,  as  you  seem  to  have  taken 
for  granted,  and  as,  indeed,  very  clearly  ap- 
pears, lie  must  not  be  let  off  so  easily.  I 
must  punish  him  before  he  goes." 

' '  You  kin  punish  um  more  dan  me  ?  ' ' 
was  the  abrupt,  almost  stern  inquiry  of  the 
wizard. 

There  was  something  so  amusing,  as  well 
as  strange,  in  the  whole  business,  something 
so  ludicrous  in  the  woe-begone  visage  of  Sam, 
that  we  pleaded  with  Mr.  Carrington  that 
the  whole  case  should  be  left  to  Methuselah  ; 
satisfied  that  as  he  had  done  so  well  hith- 
erto, there  was  no  good  reason,  nor  was  it 
right,  that  he  should  be  interfered  with. 
We  saw  the  two  shake  hands  and  part,  and 
ascertained  from  Scipio  that  he  himself  was 
the  guest  of  Gullah  Sam,  at  the  invitation 
of  Methuselah,  to  a  very  good  supper  that 
night  of  pig  and 'possum.  Scipio  described 
the  affair  as  having  gone  off  very  well,  but 
he  chuckled  mightily  as  he  dwelt  upon  the 
face  of  Sam,  which,  as  he  said,  by  night 
was  completely  raw  from  the  inveterate 
scratching  to  which  he  had  been  compelled 
to  subject  it  during  the  whole  day.  Methu- 
selah, the  next  morning,  departed,  having 
received  as  his  reward  twenty  dollars  from 
the  master,  and  a  small  pocket  Bible  from 
the  young  mistress  of  the  negro  ;  and  to 
this  day  there  is  not  a  negro  in  the  sur- 
rounding country — and  many  of  the  whites 
are  of  the  same  way  of  thinking — who  does 


344  Capital  Stories 

not  believe  that  Scipio  was  bewitched  by 
Gullah  Sam,  and  the  latter  was  shot  in  the 
face,  while  in  the  shape  of  a  common  crow 
in  the  cornfield,  by  the  enchanted  shot  pro- 
vided by  the  wizard  of  St.  Matthew's  for 
the  hands  of  the  other. 


SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

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